Hearts That Pump Dust
by the.israel.project107
Summary: Sora's living it up, watching the stars. Roxas is delivering flowers, aiming for peace. Axel is - searching. You don't just *leave* Organisation XIII. Not with your heart intact. AkuRoku
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Hssssss… no. Not yet. Still… biding my time. The only ownage going on for me, when it comes to Kingdom Hearts, is… Seph. Owning my ass. Which he then kicks… mercilessly _(hangs head)_

A/N: Hiiiiiii guyyyyyyyyssssssss. So, we're back at square one, and I'm enjoying it more than I thought I would. With two chapters left of TU, I was like, "SHIT! ALL MY CAREFUL PLANNING – GOONNNNNNNEEEEEE!" But now I'm back to evil snickering, so it's all good :D The whole reason I'm posting this now is because I suck at time management :( Still got some reviews to reply to, and I swear, I'm getting through them, but I'm moving at the most painfully slow rate – I blame the new school term :S I'm running on so little sleep it's not funny.

Okay, time: I'm easing up on the punishing schedule, especially since I'm writing two stories at once, at least to begin with – if it works out, I'll continue, if not, I'll focus exclusively on this. I'm giving myself a loose week for each chapter (incl. both stories) – not planning on using it all, but, for example, this chap took me four days. Be nice to not have to keep apologising every time that happens :D Lots of love, guys, you own big chunks of my soul (DON'T ABUSE THEM!)

PS: HAPPY BIRTHDAY NIGHTMARE FAIRY! YOU TOTALLY DIDN'T THINK I WUZ GUNNA, BUT I DIIIIIIIDDDDD!

PPS: Choose is frigging weird word. Look at it. _Choose._

CHAPTER ONE

Darkness. Height. An ice to the air, though it was dry. It cut, cut through the black fabric, cut through the hood, cut through the gloves. It reached slowly through the material, caressed cold fingers along skin, a pretend lover's touch, before ramming deep in search of bones. It found them, in the end, clutched tight and made him shake. His hands readjusted, made sure everything was in place, a nervous gesture, unlike him. His breaths came, one puffing after another, muscle twitching under skin. Eyes pierced the black with uncanny perception, waiting for the chance to strike.

Music ran through his head, strikingly off-beat with the current situation, just another factor to make his heart constrict a little. For a long time, he stood on the edge, perched at the precipice, and gazed down, out at the world. It twinkled, it glittered, it moved, it didn't even know he was here. He was a king above it all. That's what they told him – a king. What they tried to make him believe.

It was bullshit.

It was breaking him.

He was falling apart, piece by piece.

But still he waited, to perform his lies, to perform his duty. Because this was what he did. This was what he was these days, and there was little he could do to contest it. The blood was too thick on his hands to stop now.

He paced impatiently, also not like him, not how he usually behaved. But there was this, there was this _friction _inside his brain, there was something _up _there, and it was making focus more than a little_ difficult. _He was frustrated, held the device by his side and dug one hand under the cowl of his hood, scraped ferociously at his hair for a moment. _"Fuck you," _he hissed at the air, but it didn't relieve the tension building in his chest – just made it squirm, made it churn, made it the tiniest bit more uncomfortable than it already was.

He prowled, the wind blowing at the hem of his long coat, the stars burning overhead. He ignored the world around him, focusing instead on the brightly-lit window one building over, down a level, through which he could see a party taking place. A celebration, happy people, cheerful fuckers. He waited for the chance to make his move, for the right face to come into view. Alone on his rooftop, Roxas waited.

At last, he stilled, the aggravating energy fleeing abruptly, leaving him standing there on the low wall, tool touching the ground, its thinner, colder end clutched between tense fingers. He supposed that, in a way, they were right, as the face he'd been searching for came into view. It felt like sweet words designed to bloat ego, but in a twisted sort of fashion, kingliness was a reasonable description of what he was in this moment. Or – godliness.

He was frozen in place, frigid azure gaze fixed upon the one he'd been sent here to find. The wind, though it blew harder, went unnoticed. His coat swelled and flapped, but his black-clad legs, the small exposed section of his t-shirted middle beneath, remained rock-solid. The decision was here, in his hands. He held it like an egg wrapped in silken threads, fragile, valuable – disposable.

Mm. Godliness. Ridiculous, that any mortal should hold such raw power. Roxas lifted the rifle, settled the butt against his shoulder, lowered his eye to the cross-hairs, the telescopic sight to the victim. There was a silent moment, in which he brought all three together, connecting them, Roxas on the roof, the gun, the woman at the party. They each inhaled, at precisely the same time, sharing even a similar heartbeat, and suddenly he was closer to her than a whole night of desperate intimacy could have provided. It fascinated him that she didn't feel him, too.

Her heartbeat stayed steady, while his fluttered for a brief spike of adrenaline.

The window didn't break. But she did.

Sora clutched his chest, faltering, sucked in a struggled breath, eyes widening. He staggered to a halt, surrounded by bodies, lights, sweat-noise-smoke thickening the air. Up til now, he'd been having fun, had been dancing wildly, skilfully, feeling the eyes upon him, visible and otherwise. This is what Sora _did, _what he loved – coming out, night after night, and blowing the world away a little with his bright rush. He'd been jammed in among them, feeling the hands on his body and ignoring them, arms above his head as he swung to the throbbing beat, sucking in each polluted breath like his first and last, and luxuriating in it all. There was something untouchable about him when he was like this – okay, so, physically, the gropers were out in force tonight, but no one with a shred of _decency_ would have dared to grab him, and no one ever spoke to him, not unless he spoke first. There was just – something about him. Something that was so vibrant, they didn't feel he'd want to know them, there were other, brighter stars out there better suited to his company. It was true, that old adage – it's lonely at the top – but Sora wasn't out to make friends, anyway.

As a result, when he stopped dancing, when he shifted off the dance-floor with a hand massaging his chest over his heart, choking, unable to catch his breath, there wasn't anyone to meet him. No one came rushing over to see if Sora was alright – they just watched, as he frowned with a brief spike of concern and went over to the bar. He wasn't well-known here, wasn't anywhere he went, since he never frequented the same club more than twice or three times a month, so when he made a drinking motion at the barkeep, the guy just stared dully at him. Frustrated, Sora bent, hiked up his pants-leg and jammed a hand into one short boot, yanking out a wad of bills. He counted off a couple fives, slipped them over the counter, shouted his order dimly above the noise, anxiously waited. He replaced the leftover money, got his ass squeezed as he bent, whipped around with a glare. It was one thing to put up with it on the dance-floor – quite another when he was innocently buying himself a drink. The guy in question smiled slyly, gave him a wink, the expression fading slightly as Sora just coldly stared. The boy turned away with disgust, found his drink waiting for him, grabbed it up and pushed his way out of the bar area, heading for the balcony.

Outside, under the stars, it was cooler, gave him space to inhale. He loved the smell of the clubs, the feel of smoke in his lungs that didn't even belong to him, but he had to admit, it was good to get out and take a break. Unmindful of the couples already out here, for the most part making-out, one pair going just the slightest bit further still, he found an unmolested corner and leaned against it, bare elbows touching the icy, rusted metal. Ice cubes clinked in his glass, condensation rolling down the sides, slick under the fatty padding of his palms, fingertips. There was a breeze blowing stiffly, shuffling his spikes silently. For the first time since the pain had stabbed him on the dance floor, Sora was able to draw a deeper, more satisfying breath. It soothed his suddenly jangling nerves, quietened him enough to allow his gaze to slide from the amber liquid in his glass down to where the traffic flowed back and forth. The constant, commonplace noise was a comfort, with the background of music and raised voices.

Sora smiled slightly, hearing a nearby moan, shaking his head a little as he took a sip of his drink. He enjoyed this life – the fast way everything happened, the instant gratification of food, beverage, company – anything you wanted, you could find on the night-circuit of Traverse Town, while all around you the city continued to move and breathe, even way past when the sensible, and then less sensible people, had given up. Sora was in a special class, all of his own – he wasn't sensible, he wasn't foolish – he just never went home. Not until unconsciousness threatened to seize him, to send him tumbling under the veil.

He felt better now. The pain was gone – he hardly remembered that it had been there in the first place. He must've just been pushing himself too hard – one song too many. This was what he'd needed to do, needed to rest, relax, take a drink, catch his breath. He was nearly ready to head back on in, resume where he'd left off. A hand slid over his shoulder, plucking at the top button of his shirt, startling him mildly. He twisted his face around, found a woman smirking into his eyes, red-painted lips spread wide. "Hi, there," she murmured, breath a minty stain of menthol cigarettes and alcohol. "Buy me a drink, cutie?"

He smiled, turned on the charm, countered, "Buy _me _a drink." She arched an eyebrow, lips pursing with amusement.

"Sure, if I can use your money, honey – I'm fresh out of cash."

Sora shrugged. "Then I guess I go back to dancing." He straightened, downed the last of his purchase, left the glass balancing on the rail beside the disgruntled female and headed inside. He was instantly swallowed by the pounding, the smothering atmosphere, and couldn't have been happier if he'd tried.

The hotel room was dingy, but appropriate. There was brown carpet, stained, a window covered by green curtains that looked like they'd been unhooked to wipe up cum and then restrung. The bed was, in contrast, quite clean-looking. Roxas eyed it, could idly imagine sleeping on it without too much revulsion. The alarm clock was bolted to the nightstand, the crappy black-and-white television equally burglar-proofed on the small table at the foot of the mattress. The ancient tape-player sitting above it was just _made _for ridiculous pornos. You'd fuck, lie there with your bare feet blocking the screen as you watched someone get pounded, then fuck some more and sleep among the mess. It's what the whole damn _room _was created for. Its walls had witnessed a lifetime of joie de vivre.

Mouth curling witheringly at one corner, he took the two paces from the door to the bed, dropping his duffle bag on the covers, unzipping it. He drew out his hygiene products, took them into the scummy bathroom and set them up where nothing destined to enter his mouth could touch any surfaces, while being within easy reach for the morning start. He returned to his bag, drew out a long leather belt. He paused, fingers absorbing the feel of it, running along it, testing and tasting the individual bumps and loose threads. It was old, but tough. He'd had it for a while now. Most of his belts were shorter, to suit his narrow build, but this one was special, it was his lucky charm, it was long enough for its purpose, if he ever chose to indulge.

Speaking of which, it needed setting up. One never knew when the urge could come bursting through. He didn't want to have to wait if it did, just wanted to get right in there and complete it, start to finish. He went to the closet, slid the thin door to one side, eyed the hanging bar critically. This was always the deciding moment, it chose which way his mood would flip – peaceable and smug, or pissed-off and aggravated. He reached in, wrapped his hand around the cold silver, tightened his grip til his knuckles went red with spots of white, gave it a hard wrench. It held. Brows rising thoughtfully, he gave it another sharp pull. Evidently, it was stronger than it appeared. Good enough. He relaxed, contentment flowing slowly through his veins as he got to work, looping the belt around the bar, slipping it back through the buckle and cinching tightly.

Behind him, the door opened, startling Roxas into spinning around with a jump, eyes briefly flashing wide. "I got you some of those weird things you – " A man stood there, white shirt rumpled, expression tired but eyes sharp as he stopped and stared, one hand still on the doorknob. Roxas' heart leapt a little, stomach dropping. Neither spoke. The man, wild red spikes of hair, an armful of snacks, blinked at Roxas, at the belt. "Roxas," he said at last, a blankness to his tone. "What are you doing?"

White absorbed the world, and Roxas went drifting away.

Blue eyes opened to warm, pale light, filtering through white gauze curtains, swaying gently with the breeze whispering in through the cracked-open window. The swell of air swirled around bare toes, up golden legs, dulled by boxers and a white t-shirt. Roxas frowned sleepily at the ceiling, reached up to rub his eyes slowly. One hand went down to grab a fistful of the bedding, he pulled himself up to sitting with a grunt, blinking blearily around. Faint bewilderment touched him as he took in the sights of his room, the messy ensemble of shelves pigeon-holing one wall; TV on its short cabinet, games and controllers littering the floor around it like bomb debris; the weird-ass fish lamp and flashing star the others had bought him for his housewarming party, after he'd once confessed to having a fondness for lights.

At last, his attention returned to himself, eyes falling on his open hands, palms-up, brow furrowing slightly. He murmured, "Another dream about him…" The nearby sound of the tram's bell rang out, bringing his gaze up, over to the window. A small, rueful smile appearing on his features, Roxas climbed onto his knees, stretched forward and pushed at the window, swinging it open, letting the world enter, the slow, warm wind swishing happily in. He drew a contented breath, leaning on the windowsill. It didn't matter how often he saw this view, he never tired of it, not ever, not even on his bad days. He could wake up feeling like a cold razor had taken place of his personality, and it would be warmed by Twilight Town greeting him, without fail, without fanfare, going about its daily life and allowing him to be one with it.

Dreams could wait. He had a job to get to.

Roxas emerged onto the pavement, dressed in long black shorts, a fresh white tee, flip-flops. Such were the only requirements for a twenty-one year old male in the middle of a heatwave. It shimmered up from the roads, the cement of the sidewalk, bringing a sheen of sweat to the blond's forehead. The sun burned mercilessly overhead, already baking, and it was barely eight-thirty in the morning. Man, today was going to be a killer. Roxas hoped Aerith would be kind, and _not _obliterate him with physical labour.

He jogged to the tramline, waited for the car to come swinging by, grabbed a bar and sprang effortlessly up onto the moving vehicle. He took a seat in among the other commuters, all of them as widely spaced as possible to avoid bare arms sticking together. He waited with elbows on knees, idly inspecting his fingernails as the car rumbled and rattled along its route, collecting a measure of the populace as it progressed. It was a good thing they all more or less got off at the same place – Roxas didn't ever feel like trying his luck at leaping off through the mass that always ended up clinging to the edges and back towards the end of the circuit. The flailing limbs and bruises would be horrific. It'd be like the three-car pile-up he'd seen on his way to live in Twilight Town all those months ago, only, very possibly, messier.

Eventually, the tram filled all the way, every poor bastard crushed between two others in the same position, misery evident in the rivulets of perspiration trickling down flushed faces. The best part of the journey was the very end, when they all poured off onto the street, the fresh air like a long, slow, cool kiss against damp, burning flesh. Roxas tipped his head back with a groan as his step jarred after the deep descent from the car, slicking the wet hair against his skull, wishing, like he did every morning, that he could bring a bottle of water along to douse himself with at this point. But Aerith would object – she was very image-conscious when it came to her employees, and if he had any chance of working in the shop today as opposed to hauling pots around the back, he'd need to keep respectable.

Feeling distinctly less fresh and energetic now than he had when leaving his apartment, the blond stamped along the final few minutes to work, trying not to melt before he could reach the air-conditioning. Stepping inside, little bell tinkling over his head, Roxas let out a loud sigh of relief, shut his eyes, spread his arms and let the cool air encase him. "I'm home," he announced rapturously.

"Dude, please – arms down. Inhaling your B.O is _not _on my list of shit to do today," came a grunted voice. Roxas cracked an eye, glared, kept his arms resolutely aloft, swivelling his wrist to flip off the speaker.

"You're just jealous," he informed him, "because I'm experiencing the cold, when you've already long-adjusted and are just as much of a hot bitch as ever."

The other blond, taller, rangier, but with a firm roping of muscle, flicked him a coy glance, eyelashes fluttering as he carefully lowered a heavy terracotta pot housing a rich, green fern to its plate on the shop floor. "Oh, baby, you think I'm a hot bitch? I didn't know you _felt _that way, Roxas."

"Roxas! Hayner!" Aerith's scolding floated from the back room. "Language!" She came out wiping her hands on a dishcloth, a displeased expression in place. "If any early customers came in, what would they think?"

"That you've got some beefy, manly guys working for you?" Hayner replied hopefully. "Everyone knows that swearing is what all the super-hot dudes do."

"Then maybe I should employ some less _conceited _boys, and have a suitable working environment _that _way," she responded archly, hands on hips.

"Or _maybe," _Roxas supplied, "Hayner could shut the heck up – I said heck, it's not a curse – and we could actually get to work!" He clapped his hands. "Who's with me?"

Hayner smirked, flipped his nose. "Dude, got a spot of brown, right there."

Aerith was similarly amused. "Am I to assume you'd like to work indoors today, Roxas?"

The puppy-dog look came bursting out in full force, wide eyes, pouting lower lip, unvoiced begging reaching out to whimper to the woman. She sighed, shook her head. "Well…" She smiled, a wicked glint. "Sorry. Not today."

"Aw, _come _on, Aerith," Roxas protested desperately. "I'll die out there!" She shrugged, floating over to the till.

"Not today, Roxas," she reiterated. "I've got a whole stack of orders in, they need to be filled and shifted, and this is why I originally hired you guys, remember?" She turned, placing her hands on the counter. "You're my labour monkeys," she added with a grin. Hayner snorted, while Roxas' puppy-dog look became more kicked.

"But, but, but! I love flowers! I want to be a florist when I grow up! Teach me, won't you? _I need on-the-job training," _he wailed.

Aerith flicked a hand at him, already focusing on a notepad on the counter, scribbling something down. "Get to work, gentlemen." As Roxas whined and threw himself about some more, she took pity, lifting her gaze one last time. "Tell you what – I feel like something from The Usual Spot today – you and Hayner can take a long lunch and pick me something up, okay?"

Roxas shuffled to the counter, crossed his arms on it, thudded his head down. Aerith patted his spikes. "There, there," she said lightly, sounding thoroughly unsympathetic. Roxas would've tried the tack of, 'but you don't know what it's _liiiiike, _it's _haarrrrrd' _except that Aerith _did _know, quite well – when the flow of business permitted it, she was out there with them, shifting pots and pouring mulch, no matter the weather. She just couldn't move them as fast, and the shop needed attending to, being one of only two florists' in the district. So instead, he glowered resentfully, stomped through the back room, out the rear exit, into the yard where Hayner had already relocated and was busy scraping the bejesus out of the paving dragging a giant pot over to the door. The cords of his neck stood out, teeth gritted, muscles like rock as he struggled. Roxas paused, watched in amusement. "You know, you could've waited for me," he pointed out, as Hayner let out a sharp breath with a curse, a muscle pulling in his lower back. The taller blond straightened, rubbing at it, hands clad in garden gloves, squinting through the light at him. "Oh, sure, waited for you to tick Aerith off. I figured, if she was going to fire someone, it'd be _your _sorry ass instead of mine, thank you very much. I need the cash this month." He rolled his neck, glistening with sweat. "So, you gonna help me out, or what? I'm gonna get a hernia at this rate…"

Roxas walked over to the workbench, grabbed up his rough gloves, yanked them over his skin. Over the course of the next three hours, the pair lost both their shirts and flip-flops, straining the new load of killer pots into the pink-walled shop. At some point, Aerith had turned the air-con down, letting the natural humidity of the place rise and swirl. Roxas was gasping, dripping, bent almost double as he shoved and scraped alongside Hayner. Things definitely didn't improve when the dirtier-blond decided it'd be fun to start snapping the protruding elastic of Roxas' underwear, as his shorts slid lower on his hips. A brief slap-war erupted, and was broken up by Aerith sending them out for their shirts and down the road for lunch.

It was still as hot as hell, but there was a rubbery relief at not having to be physical for a while. Simply walking felt like floating. Roxas was sure he'd be able to leave the ground like a helium balloon, go drifting off into the stratosphere.

The Usual Spot was quiet when they got there, their regular table empty, the lunch hour not quite ready to begin. It was sitting in the sun, the mosaic top hot to touch. Apparently not finished with punishing himself, Hayner sized it up, grabbed the edge of the heavy table and rammed it several inches into the shade. Roxas quickly grabbed the coolest position, flashing the outraged blond a mock-loving grin. Grumbling, Hayner took the next seat over, a shoulder sticking out into the light to be steadily burnt over the next hour.

Drawn by the noise, one of the waitresses came out, green eyes wide, brows drawn together. She pursed her lips as her gaze settled on the pair, the knuckles of one hand finding her hip, the other tapping a small order-pad against her chest. "I should've known it was you two," she dryly sighed. Both males looked up, brightened.

"Olette!"

She spread her hands. "The one and only." She sashayed to their table, making a show of drawing out a pencil. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure, gentlemen? What brings you two half-dead-looking creatures to such a fine establishment?"

"Food. The usual, with lots of iced-water," Roxas commanded lazily, leaning back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head as his legs stretched out.

"And while we're on the subject of creatures," Hayner interjected, sounding disgruntled, "how's everything going with Seifer?"

Olette narrowed her eyes, jabbed the pencil in his direction. "Just you watch yourself, Hayner," she warned. "Seifer's good to me."

"Oh, sure he is, he's such a _great_ guy,after all," the blond replied, a sharp edge of sarcasm lining each word.

Olette smacked him with the orders pad. Sounding irritated, she said, "I'll be back soon with your lunch." After she'd disappeared back into the café, Roxas grabbed a serviette from the silver dispenser in the middle of the hot table, balled it up, and tossed it to bounce off Hayner's forehead.

"Way to go – see if she gives us free sodas _this _time," the blond complained. Hayner snorted, threw it back, hitting his chest.

"She had it coming. You are such a _whiner _in the heat, man. What, it never got this hot where you come from?"

"Okay, yes, she did," Roxas admitted. "Seifer's an epic moron, and I don't know."

Hayner cocked an eyebrow, slumping over the table with elbows splayed, fists holding his chin. "You don't _know?"_

Roxas shrugged uncaringly. "Yeah, you know – these things just kind of fade from your mind. I don't know. I don't really remember."

"Psh." Hayner drummed his fingers. "Weird." Obviously bored, he leaned across, stretched, and managed to poke Roxas in the ribs. "Weirdo."

"Guys!" The pair turned, to see a beaming brunet approach the table from out of the café, camera bag hooked around his neck. "Olette told me you were out here!"

"Pence, man, what the hell are you doing here?" Hayner greeted amiably, toeing out a chair for him to sit down. "Shouldn't you be snapping pics?"

"I'm taking some of The Usual Spot," the brunet replied brightly, taking his seat and wiping the shine from his forehead. "My editor's running a piece on local restaurants, with the increase in tourists coming past from the beach." He unslung the camera, opened the bag and drew the device out, switching it on. "Here, check it out." He passed it over, and Hayner dutifully went through the collection, grunting his appreciation every now and then.

"Nice," he commented, handing it to Roxas, nudging the blond when he didn't respond, too busy with his head tipped back, eyes shut, enjoying the respite from Aerith's slave-driving. Roxas opened an eye, squinting, groaned and accepted the camera, held it up over his face and quickly flipped through the selection. "They're good," he said, the single eye taking in each image. "It's a good idea – I've seen a bunch of tourists around town. Hopefully it'll increase business."

"That's the plan," replied Pence happily. He took his camera back, tucked it away, and the three friends lounged together. At last, Olette returned, toting two plates and a brown paper bag.

"Two burgers," she recited, "and a take-away chicken sandwich."

"Olette, you have crappy taste in men, but you're a goddess in the kitchen," Hayner declared, pulling his food close. Olette glared witheringly.

"She doesn't cook it," Roxas pointed out, to which the blond shrugged, taking a large bite.

"And I already knew my taste in men was crappy," the brunette sniffed, "I hang around with _you _guys, after all."

"Hey, don't include me in this," Pence protested.

Roxas' hand thrust into the air a second later, voice chiming, "Seconded!"

Hayner scowled. "Your support is overwhelming, thanks so much." Olette went to get their drinks. Pence whapped him with his chicken sandwich.

"Shut up about Seifer," he urged in a low voice. "He already shit-talks us to her – you wanna lose her altogether by being the one to make her choose between him and us?"

Roxas' head lowered sharply, burger as yet untouched, the luxuriating quality dissipating fast into a frown. "Say what? Choose?"

"It's going to happen eventually," Hayner grumbled, picking some meat from his teeth.

"Yeah, no kidding," Pence replied patiently. "But who's going to look like a jerk, huh? The one that demands she choose, or the one that tells her to live her own life?"

Roxas sat forward, elbows crashing to the little, coloured tiles, eyebrows elevated. "Okay, so, back up a sec – I haven't been spacing out for _that _long – why was I not aware that there was some kind of power struggle going on here?"

Hayner sent him a pitying look. "Because you're a short-sighted douche?" Roxas glared, Olette returning before he got the chance to retaliate. Tall, clear glasses were set on the tabletop, ice-cubes clinking, deliciously cold, the glass frosted.

"See you guys when the check comes," Olette said, a chill to her tone.

"Can you have Aerith's usual waiting when we pay?"

Olette's gaze found Roxas, softening slightly. "Sure thing, I'll add it to her tab."

"Why don't _we_ get a tab?" Hayner demanded, an old, worn argument.

"Because you're an unreliable ass," she snapped, sweeping back into the restaurant, leaving the three of them blinking.

"Okay, I think I'll go now," Pence said, lips pursing, eyebrows high. He saluted them shortly. "See you guys after work." He was up a moment later, loping down the sidewalk towards the newspaper building, camera bouncing around his neck. Roxas shifted onto the edge of his seat, eyes narrowed, mouth opening – was cut off by a broad hand snapping up, Hayner grunting, "Not now, Roxas. I just wanna eat my lunch, okay?"

Scowling, the blond allowed silence to develop. They ate their food quietly, ended up heading back prematurely, none of the easy laziness they'd come with lingering like it usually did. Roxas was the one to go in and pay, while Hayner sulked. He gave the money to Olette's co-worker, the brunette nowhere in sight, accepted Aerith's sandwich. Heading outside, he saw that Hayner was already up, halfway down the street. Sighing with exasperation, wondering how life had become a soap-opera when he'd been looking the other way, Roxas jogged to catch up.

Aerith was surprised to see them back so soon. Hayner, moody as ever, stalked into the back room, already stripping off his shirt in anticipation of the desperate sweating to resume. Roxas just shrugged and shook his head at the woman's questioning glance. He handed over her lunch, headed outside, found Hayner throwing himself at another gigantic pot. Figuring he'd probably end up snapping at Roxas if he tried to help, the shorter blond donned his gloves and went to the pre-potted plants and flowers, smaller, started carrying them in to set on the long shelves inside the shop. Since he was within view of the customers, he was forced to keep his shirt on, though it clung uncomfortably to his skin, unsightly stains drenching the armpits and chest. Still, no one could say he didn't work for his money.

During a lull, Aerith went out the back to check on Hayner's progress, the youth having remained silent the entire time since returning. Roxas wearily wondered at precisely what was going on. He hadn't known Hayner, Pence and Olette for more than six months, but he'd slotted into their group dynamic flawlessly. Oftentimes, it felt like he'd been as much a permanent fixture as anything else in this town, but during instances such as this, the blond was reminded of just how much of their local history he'd missed. He frowned, bending at the knee, placing a larger plant down in with its brothers and sisters, their young branches intertwining, pink flowers in various stages of decay. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Roxas knelt, twisting a couple of the pots to bring out their best side, making it so that, if Aerith returned, he'd look productive instead of slack.

A peripheral flash of motion caught his attention. Curiously, he glanced up, saw someone moving in the next aisle, glimpses evident between the vegetation. They were heading towards the counter. Surprised, not having noticed the bell ring, certain no one had been in the shop when he'd entered, Roxas straightened, wiped his forehead with a wrist. He strode along the aisle, promised the customer, "Someone'll be with you in a moment." The boy leaned against the desk, nodded faintly. Roxas passed into the back room, pushed open the door to the yard, called, "Aerith! Customer!" She came hurrying back from where she and Hayner had been conversing in low tones, nodded gratefully and swept back into the shop. Roxas went over to where Hayner stood, a dark expression on the taller blond's face, hands on his hips. "Everything cool?" he asked cautiously, figuring that, if speech had resumed, things had to be looking up. Hayner grunted.

"Gonna help me again, or do I have to hurt myself?" Roxas gave him a half-smile, slid out of his flip-flops, bare feet preparing to dig into the rough paving as they neared the end of the new collection of giant terracotta containers. After this, they'd start filling some with mulch, plant the small flowering trees Aerith had bought specifically to fit. Roxas dreaded when people started buying the monsters – the first few would be for display purposes only. Once they were purchased, the two blonds would be stuck delivering the huge pots to homes, setting them up to look the same as in the shop. It wasn't that it was too difficult, but at Aerith's, they could crunch away at the ground without fear of reprimand – customers started getting snarky if you dragged a hundred-fifty pounds of floristry over their nicely constructed gardens.

Aerith stuck her head back out, voice puzzled as she asked, "Roxas? Didn't you say there was a customer?"

He glanced up, already hunched over, knuckles whitening against the rich golden-brown stone. "Yeah," he called back shortly, a dribble of perspiration entering one eye. He reached up to scrub at it. "Some guy."

"That's funny," he heard her murmur. She shrugged, replied, "He must have left again, there's no one there."

"What?" He frowned, wiped his face. "He was at the counter, though – what'd he do, run to the exit?"

"Maybe he remembered he left the stove on," Hayner cut in impatiently. "As long as he didn't steal the register while you conveniently left him alone, I don't see a problem."

Aerith's eyes widened. "I'll just check…" she said worriedly, disappearing back inside. Roxas waited until she returned, ready to tug off his gloves and follow her, but when she reappeared, it was with a shrug and shake of the head. "Must've just darted out," she called. "Nothing obvious is missing."

"Yeah, let me know if something turns out to be gone, okay?" he requested, concerned. "I sort of got a good look at him – I could probably hunt him down."

"I'm sure it's fine," her voice floated back, the brunette already back within the air-conditioning.

"Dude, pot," Hayner said, patience at its end. Roxas rolled his eyes.

"Sure," he sighed. He grabbed the lip of the container, the pair of them gathering strength before the big initial shove. "What is it with you and pot?"

"Hardy-fuckin'-_ha," _the blond gritted through his teeth, as they threw themselves into it.

The end of the day approached, the sun dipping to kiss the horizon of Twilight Town, disappearing from sight behind the tall fences bordering the yard of Aerith's shop. At long last, the woman wandered out to them, donned her own set of gloves, and helped pack the mulch, making certain everything was in the right decorative position. She called a halt as blue velvet touched the sky, aching backs and arms stretching. "I'll finish up here," she offered, with a smile. "You two head home. You both did well today, I appreciate the effort."

"Hell, we appreciate the wage," Hayner muttered, yanking off his gloves and tossing them over onto the workbench. The boys grabbed their flip-flops, personal effects from the back room, pausing briefly to take turns washing their hands and splashing their faces in the small fountain in the middle of the shop, and bid Aerith adieu. Roxas' last glimpse of her was as she calmly, deftly buried the roots of a semi-mature bush into the soil, tired-out but in her element. The little bell above the door jangled, the blond making sure to lock it again from the inside before tugging it shut, the _'closed' _sign knocking against the glass.

Hayner, backpack slung over one shoulder, was already heading down the road into the setting sun, forcing Roxas to quicken his step to catch up. They spent a while walking in silence, hands in pockets, Hayner's eyes fixed straight ahead, Roxas' wandering. He enjoyed this cusp-of-night journey they made together, either back to Hayner's place or parting at the tram for Roxas. In essence, they hadn't known each other long, but a rapport had quickly sprung between them, fixed them firmly as close friends after only a few short weeks. That was ancient history by now – Roxas had been in Twilight Town long enough for each day to seem as if to melt into the next. His presence had long gone from being a pleasant surprise, to being expected. He was one of them.

They headed to Hayner's apartment under tacit agreement, taking turns in the shower, washing away the grime of the day's labours. While he waited for the taller blond to finish gelling his hair up for the night's gathering at the bar near The Usual Spot, Roxas went out onto the short balcony jutting from the side of the building, dressed in the fresh, clean clothing he always kept spare at the apartment for just this sort of happenstance. He slid the glass door shut in his wake, to keep the mosquitos from entering and causing Hayner to go bugshit from the incessant, droning hum of their wings.

The good thing about Twilight Town, Roxas found, was the nightly sea-breeze. The days might be enough to turn you to sludge on the sidewalk, but the coolness of the evenings made up for it – you always knew that, if nothing else, you'd get a chance to breathe again, and relax with the disappearance of the burning sun. Hayner's apartment was on just the best side of the building to benefit from the wind that came sweeping in after five-thirty. It was nice to come out with a beer sometimes, and sit on the crates the blond had swiped from the local grocery store, talking shit until midnight, just the two of them.

Neither had really felt the benefits of having a best friend before meeting each other – Hayner had had Pence and Olette, but there was a similarity between the blonds that set them apart in their own little side-relationship, strong outside the group. Very possibly the crappy moods both were susceptible to. Nothing quite like common ground for building a friendship.

Roxas had lost count of the amount of time the two of them had slumped in one or the other of their apartments, watching mindless TV and glowering. It was different for him, though – he didn't get pissy and mean like Hayner could, like some kind of male PMS. He just – stopped feeling for periods of time. A numbness would steal through his chest, and he'd forget to react to outside stimulus. A joke would be told, and he wouldn't laugh, wouldn't even know what made it funny. A pretty girl would smile at him, and he'd stare blankly back until she wavered and moved on. Olette would have a fight with Hayner, or on occasion Seifer, and be crying buckets all over his and Pence's shoulders, and he'd not know how to handle her, be incapable of finding enough room to care enough to even offer a few empty words of solace. These episodes were rare-ish, but it definitely lumped him into the almost-jerk category with Hayner. Where Hayner could be hot-tempered, Roxas was cold, but somehow they were each able to handle the other's emotional malfunctions with aplomb. It made for company during the lifeless times, which even at the time a small section of Roxas found room to appreciate. Being alone sucked. It was scary, when you couldn't feel.

He leaned against the rail, head craned back, gazing at the pinpricks of star glittering down at the world, taking in the swirls of galaxy, feeling a sense of peace. This was what he needed – peace, above all else. It was what endeared him so strongly to Twilight Town, the unending tranquillity of the place as a whole. No matter what dramas happened in the individual lives during the daylight hours, there would always be the calm nights, the silent sky, the whispered flitting of the black shapes of birds swooping over the rooftops.

There was a sudden rapping at the door, jarring Roxas out of his reverie. He twisted, eyebrow arching at Hayner, who pulled faces through the glass, before motioning him inside. Roxas hesitated, then smiled, nodded. He joined the taller blond, the two heading out to meet the others at the bar, and Roxas couldn't have been happier if he'd tried.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Hey, everyone, second chapter, major yays. Hope you like it :) This is all working out fine so far, and the lack of time constraint is working wonders. Okay, in regards to the title: several people have commented on the title of this fic, which prompts me to say that, sadly, the genius is not mine. While on a hunt for all things Damien Rice, the download source of the song 'Prague' (which is the absolute inspiration for this fic, utterly) was from a fanmix soundtrack by Kokanshu on LJ, titled, 'Our Hearts Pump Dust', which was in turn taken from the song 'Tiny Cities Made of Ashes' by Modest Mouse. I had the idea for this in mind, saw the title of that and went, "Yes, PLEASE!" So, all kudos is hers, especially since she graciously allowed me to bastardise it :) (squirming feeling of credit-stealing – gone).

Oh, and anon 'no one important' – you're important to me? Leave an email next time, so I can reply:D

CHAPTER TWO

Sora liked candy. The chewy kind, with sugar adhering like powder to the artificially-coloured surface. He loved the ones that resembled rainbows. He held a paper bag filled with all sorts of good shit like that, bouncing down the sidewalk, the streetlights making the world bright like day, a multicoloured strap hanging from between his teeth, slowly growing shorter. People looked, they couldn't _help_ but look,such vitality was radiating from this one boy, bopping along to his own little mental tune, in the middle of the city. For some reason, he was also wearing sunglasses – he _liked _sunglasses. They reminded him of beaches and sunshine, something from a lifetime ago, made him feel like he was back in the then-and-there, basking.

He'd been drifting around all night, no real aim in mind, just focused on getting the most out of the hours he had. He ended up, of course, down near the club circuit, his feet knowing the way automatically, although he wasn't planning on entering any – he'd been around enough lately. He liked to mix things up, never repeat the same evening's activities more than once a week. He didn't want it to get stale, wanted to keep wanting, to keep having _fun. _However – when he caught a flash of silver in the crowd ahead, all such thoughts were dashed from his mind. Sora jerked to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk, choking on his candy as he was roughly bumped from behind, glasses slipping off his nose and cracking on the pavement. He barely noticed. Something gripped his heart, made it thunder painfully as his breath caught momentarily. He was frozen, then surging forward, brows pulled together as he fought his way through, saw a group disappear into a club, that flash of silver at its front.

Eyes fixed determinedly ahead, he aimed for the entrance, was stopped by a hand to the chest, looking over in frustrated consternation at the man, not much taller than himself, eyeing him flatly, shaking his head. "I need to get in," Sora said intently, shaking his sugar-bag for good measure.

"So does everyone else, kid," the guy said, nodding at the long line. Sora eyed him, a hard glint entering his gaze.

"Okay, look, I didn't want to have to do this, but you've – you've driven me to it." He took a breath, the man preparing to be amused by whatever battle he was about to put up, mildly surprised to have a red-and-white striped paper bag thrust into his face. Sora said, "Take it – go on. There's thirty-five bucks of candy in there." The bouncer raised an eyebrow, couldn't help but peer in curiously. He smirked.

"You're kidding me."

"Plus the entrance fee," Sora persisted. He drew the bag back, dug a hand in, drew out a fistful of sour rainbow straps, shook them. The guy was getting ready to reject him again, when Sora sealed the deal with a kiss, grabbing him by the back of the neck, tugging him the short distance down his lips, a hard, searing pressure, a swipe of his tongue as he shoved the candy bag into the man's arms. He drew back, eyes a little unfocused, begging, "Please? I – I have to get in." And, though a little voice in the back of his mind suddenly started wondering _why, _exactly, it was so vital, the bouncer was giving in. Sora was a damn fine kisser, after all. And, hey – candy is candy.

Reluctantly, fingers tightening on the paper bag, Sora experiencing a slight clutch at the notion that the guy would keep the goodies and boot him out on his ass, he was asked, "You got ID? You don't look twenty-one, kid…" Sora scuffled through his pants, found his wallet and yanked out his driver's licence, inspected it for a moment before flipping it up in front of the man's face breathlessly. He pointed to the little picture for emphasis. "That's me, right?"

The bouncer shook his head, defeated, and, under a weight of abusive protests from those that had been waiting in line for God knows how long, Sora was let through. His burst of triumph was short-lived, withering as he found himself a bare minute later standing in the middle of the darkened, smoky club. Yes, he loved these places, but – he hadn't _intended _to visit one tonight. What the hell was he even doing here? He had sugar on his teeth, and the faint tang of tequila on his tongue, remnant of his visit into someone else's mouth. He was somewhere he didn't want to be, his sunglasses were broken and no doubt by now crushed underfoot, and he'd lost his fucking candy. What had spurred this little burst of idiocy?

A flash of silver. Sora whipped around, saw it on the dance-floor, lit up by the strobe for five seconds, by the harsh red light for another ten, but by this point he was already moving, worming roughly through the mass of humanity turned up to get lost in the noise. Too many people, too tight, he was smothered. This wasn't the joy of the night, this was a goddamn obstacle course, panic fluttering through his veins as he struggled to find the silver, the _silver. _He'd made a circuit of the floor, before seeing his prize back where he'd started, heading towards the bar. Cursing viciously, startling someone that had started grinding against him into backing off, he shoved his way back across the floor, pissing people off this time, incurring shouts and slaps. He ignored them all, a train of intent going relentlessly onward. He broke free of the claustrophobic writhing, sucking in the slightly less humid air with desperation, glancing around. _Oh, God! _There!

He hurried across the club, eyes fixed on silver, got close enough to touch, grabbed an elbow and tugged sharply, bursting out, "Riku?"

Surprise, teal-eyes and silver hair, narrow face, full lips and beauty, but – "Can I help you?" The man looked him slowly up and down, as Sora sagged, bewilderment exploding upward, gripping his head and twisting. He trembled slightly. "I – I'm sorry," he said, confusion evident. "I thought you were – someone else."

The man smirked, extended a hand. "My name's Kadaj."

He gripped automatically, replying, "Sora," still that distracted air, thoughts spinning around, chanting, _what-what-what-what-what the fuck? _

"Well – Sora…" His voice, it oozed with charm, with approval. "I might not be the one you're looking for, but you're certainly welcome to join my brothers and me at our table."

Sora shook his head sharply, coming out of his daze, frowning as he pulled his fingers loose from the man's tight grasp. "No – thank you, but… I need to go."

Silver eyebrows rose. "I'm surprised…" He shrugged, turned on heel, hips swaying as he walked away, calling in parting over his shoulder, "If you ever change your mind, we're here most nights… just ask for me at the bar…"

Sora left, blowing past the bouncer without a second glance, face lowered, scarcely seeing where he was going. His hands were clenched by his sides, entire bearing stiff and tense, steps stumbling every now and then. He was – his brain was just thrown for a loop. He didn't know _where _the obsessive need had come from, couldn't remember what had triggered it, or – or even what he'd hoped to achieve. Most of all, he couldn't figure out why that name was now revolving in his thoughts, though it grew fainter. He clung to it for several minutes, attempting to find sense in its insistence. But, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't figure out who on earth this – _'Riku'_ was.

Day dawned, promising to be hot, yet again. Roxas rose before the birds, when the early sunrise was still only just peeking above the horizon, slung on his running shoes, shorts and a singlet, and went for a jog. He tried to maintain it three to four times a week, some ingrained need to remain fit, to keep his stamina high. He danced down the stairs three at a time, a bottle of chilled water in hand, exited into the coolness, savouring that it had yet to turn into its baking intensity. He kicked into a slow pace to warm up, a little faster than a power walk, traversing the familiar sidewalks, crossing quiet roads. Almost as if alerted by his presence, sprinkler after sprinkler spluttered to life as he passed, the steady _chk-chk-chk _quickly filling the air, along with the ceaseless chirrup of crickets. His steps were smooth, the pump of his arms even, the sweat that rose against his flesh controlled and cooling despite the burn that set up beneath his skin.

It wasn't long before Roxas sped up, throwing himself into the mindlessness of steady, streamlined motion, revelling in the peace that it inspired, the white nothing at the core of his thoughts. Time passed, the sun rising higher, its journey swift on these long days, turning the sky to pink, the clouds to whipped gold, before perpetual blue took position, pale and constant, promising heat to come. His perspiration built as the earth warmed, streets absorbing and redistributing the temperature, until it was streaming, soaking. Still, Roxas continued, endured the slow boil, knowing that in ten minutes time, he would be in the haven of a cool shower.

Then, it happened. There he was, going along at his usual hard pace, when a car came swinging around out of a driveway, and Roxas was forced to throw himself to one side to avoid getting collected. He found himself on his back on the person's green, green lawn, an irate honk coming from the vehicle in question, before it went speeding off. Roxas heaved for air, heart thundering, knees rising as he prepared to climb up – _"Oh, my God!" _

Red hair, ecstasy, _sex, _sweat shimmering on skin and breaths gasped, lips mashed almost painfully, tongues wrapping together along with limbs, constant rocking motion. Green eyes, lust-clouded and piercing with something else, mouth open as he pulled back, their gazes meeting, dulled by pleasure. Desperate keening. Head thrashing. Fingers winding in scarlet, tugging without meaning to, bringing a grunt and a cry, skin slick against skin – Roxas blinking in the harsh sunlight.

He froze. Then, very abruptly, he _un_froze, leapt to his feet, mortified at the raging erection that had taken up residence in his thin jogging shorts. Terrified – the school kids started coming out at this time of morning – Roxas leapt across the road to an empty house with a 'for-sale' sign hammered into the lawn. He took refuge behind the broad tree in the yard, sinking down in horror. One look at his shorts, and a second later he was unscrewing the cap of his water, dousing himself in the coldness. He squeezed his eyes shut, blowing out a sharp breath through the droplets, heart beating furiously, from embarrassment and extremely hideous, out-of-the-blue horniness. This was – _awful! _What – _what? _

He took a deep breath, shivering at the abrupt switch from hot to cold, a churning taking place in his gut. He had to calm down, had to gain control of this. _Okay, _he told himself, _let's review. _He stared blankly for a moment, then screwed up his face, driving his fingers through damp blond spikes.

Why the hell was Roxas daydreaming about having someone up his ass? He knew that girls didn't do much for him, he'd even found himself checking out Hayner when they were shirt-off sweaty at work, but it never _meant _anything – he never thought it went _this _deep! He'd never thought of following the chest-check with a suavely delivered, "Hey, drinks and a movie, then a fuck for dessert?" Yet, here he was – getting hard in the middle of suburbia at the vivid image of getting well and truly _pounded._

A faint shudder worked its way through his muscles. Roxas firmly, with panic, directed his thoughts elsewhere, eyes darting about in search of distraction as his skin began to rapidly dry. He ended up counting the bricks of the house in front of him, focusing wholeheartedly on the task. It took longer than he liked for his body to settle – the images had been so _strong – _but at last, he pushed himself up onto shaking legs. He leaned against the tree for a long minute, gathering strength after the sharp end to his run, then shoved away, staggered, and headed for home.

Hayner was already working by the time Roxas got to the store, around near the yard exit, tying pots onto two upright trolleys. He spared the shorter blond a glance, grunted, and said, "Decided to show up?"

Roxas, already feeling rushed and flustered, glared back, yanking his gloves on. "I had – something came up." He stopped sharply, looked around, took in the scene with a sinking stomach. "Deliveries already?"

"That's correct!" Aerith joined them, striding from the shop. She was looking gleeful, a happy shine in her eyes. "I had a customer phone in and order thirteen, straight up! Only condition, they have to be delivered ASAP, which is where _you _lovely boys come in!" She took Roxas' face between her hands, squished it cheerfully, making him squirm and struggle. She released him, clapped sharply, cried, "So, get to it! Roxas, I don't want to hear any complaints from you, you were late, that automatically makes you the biggest monkey-boy of all." Bouncing on her toes, delighted by the sale, she twisted, sailed back inside, leaving the blonds blinking in a dazed sort of way. Their gazes caught, each shrugging, and, united once again against the madness that was Aerith in a frenzy, they got to work. It took roughly an hour to fill the white van with the pink flower logo with all it could carry, the body sitting low. Sweating heavily, not taking off his gloves, Roxas went and stuck his head into the shop while Hayner got the van started, called, "We're leaving with the first load!"

"How many?" the woman demanded, already scribbling and reaching for the phone. Roxas screwed his eyes, thought.

"Uh – five."

"Uh-huh," she murmured, tucking the receiver under her chin, perfectly trimmed nail punching at the numbers. She flashed him a bright smile. "Okay, I'll see you later. Make sure to drink lots of water, Hayner, too."

Roxas saluted, replied, "Yes, ma'am," pushed away from the doorframe and loped back across the yard, through the gate, into the narrow alley behind the shop. Hayner was slumped back in the driver's seat, a punishing beam of sunlight pouring straight down through the windscreen. Roxas opened the passenger's door, nearly reeled at the wave of dry heat that came billowing out. He choked, cursed weakly, dragged himself up into the seat, grabbed the hard leather handle to swing it shut, yelped, shouted, _"Fucking - !" _He snatched his hand to his chest, blowing frantically on the skin. Hayner smirked, cracking an eye open.

"Hot enough for you, baby?"

"Fucking…" Roxas grabbed his shirt off, pulled his head free from the collar, balled it around his palm, snared the handle a second time and, with more success, pulled it shut with a clang. Hayner let out a sigh, commanded, "Put down your goddamn window," and put the vehicle in gear. They rumbled away from the curb, headed out onto the main road, passing The Usual Spot and the bar they'd spent the evening in, at which Olette had refused to speak to Hayner, and Hayner had proceeded to get both drunk and stoned, from a little of his stash he'd brought along for the ride. Neither of them handled animosity well. Made for a fun time for Roxas and Pence – the blond had ended up leaving early, preferring his own company to the cold fragility of mood-swings.

Settling with his bare feet on the dashboard, pulling the seatbelt on, the straps hot against his bare skin, Roxas tipped his head to the side, forehead poking out into the rushing air. Eyes slipping shut, he took a deep, soothing breath, felt the warmth swell his lungs, savoured the twenty minutes of rest he had before work started sucking again. Hayner had his elbow perched on the edge of the window, clutching a handful of hair as he lazily traversed the winding roads, the hills, following Aerith's written directions to the expensive side of town. Buying thirteen pots, they figured it'd have to be one of the _huge _fucking houses that had started sprouting since the beach down the train line had got popular in the last five years or so. To begin with, Roxas had almost had trouble connecting with the people he now called his friends – Hayner, more than anyone, had viewed him with distrust, expecting him to be one of the ones that stayed for a few days each summer, generally cluttering the place up and shooting local prices sky-high. For once, he and Seifer had been agreed on something – although Seifer, of course, had had to take it just that little bit further and attempt to beat the snot out of Roxas for daring to not be intimidated by his bullying swagger. That was when Hayner had stepped in, and made him a temporary, then permanent, part of the group.

The blond stretched his legs, touching toes to the windscreen. Hayner glanced over, slapped his calf. "Get off. You wanna get us pulled over?"

Roxas pulled a face, lowered his feet to the shade, stuck his head out the open window like a dog, mouth open, tongue out. He heard Hayner faintly through the roar of wind, "…a bug…" He considered wiggling his ass in the other's face, possibly crashing the van, but the memory of his – difficult – morning restrained him. He'd had no intention of complaining, despite Aerith's anticipation of it – the physical effort was fantastic, drained him, kept his mind blank and body occupied. But it still nagged at him – his post-run shower had not been fun at _all. _He was determined to keep the – whatever the hell it was – firmly suppressed.

Hayner tapped the breaks sharply as they rounded a corner broadly, smirking as Roxas went slamming an inch forward before wrenching to a stop against his safety belt. Swearing and massaging his shoulder, the blond sat down quickly, shooting a suspicious look over at his friend. Hayner said mildly, by way of explanation, "Took it too wide." Roxas kept his head in for the rest of the journey.

By the time they arrived at the mansion in question, the van had cooled, the trip almost pleasant, if one didn't think about the back-breaking labour waiting at its end. Still, Aerith would probably let them go early, since this would eat into lunch by the time all the pots were delivered and set up. The van creaked to a halt, engine cutting. Hayner, as the potentially more professional of the two when money was being made, went to alert the homeowner to their presence, while Roxas slid open the panel-door to the back of the van, shrugging his shirt back on. Twisting it straight around his waist, running a perfunctory hand through his hair, he climbed into the interior, hunching over to avoid knocking his head against the roof as he prepared the trolleys. When Hayner returned, with directions to the yard the plants were destined to ring, Roxas had a ramp set up, was lashing the first of the five onto the red trolley.

It took less time to unload, the majority of their efforts taken up with positioning the pots as according to the new owner's wishes, before bringing out the young trees and setting them up to mimic those that, even now, swished gently in the air-con of the shop, near Aerith at the counter. All in all, the job took a little over half the day. The golden-amber afternoon sun, reaching a steady broiling temperature, saw them driving at a weary, leisurely pace back to the shop. Roxas curled up in his seat, stinking shirt thrown into the back, head in his arms. Hayner quietly, calmly drove them, and the smaller of the two fell into a doze, lulled by the vibrations and familiar turns.

Roxas was at an airport, sitting on an ergonomically awkward chair, cheerful fucking orange, bright enough to burn the retinas. The table was just as, if not more, irritating, covered in a confetti motif, the likes of which belonged at a child's birthday party. It stung his head to be in such a chipper setting, when airports in general were close to being the most miserable destinations on the planet. It was a visual falsity, designed to pretend to be somewhere fun and relaxing between one exciting flight and the next. Roxas was pretty fucking close to having a breakdown, all on account of the food-court décor.

"You look tired," a soft voice observed, from across the table. He didn't look up, kept his perpetually cold gaze on the coffee cup nestled between his palms. It burned, delightfully, reminded him there were nerve-endings. Through the distant call-to-arms of the overhead announcements, Roxas curtly replied, "I don't feel well."

Fingers drummed the tabletop, narrow with callused tips, an impatient, habitual movement. "Been taking your meds?"

A slow, bitter smile broke out across the blond's face. He opened his mouth to reply, was cut off by the crash of a plate-laden tray dropping to the floor, snapping Roxas from the airport to a hallway, deserted, knees to the ground, cold seeping from the white tiles into his pants. He was shaking badly, trying to wrench something from his pocket, struggling, hearing the thin plastic rustle and crackle. His breaths came hard-won, sharp, too shallow to satisfy his lungs or head. He blinked roughly, went to press a hand to the ground for support, instead met a still-warm stomach. He jerked briefly, didn't draw back, just sagged against the support and redoubled his efforts.

At last the package came loose, Roxas' eyes low as he fumbled with it, clear wrapper reflecting the overhead halogen lights. Fingers worked uselessly for a moment, making more noise than ever, the blond cursing viciously under his breath. He had to still himself, had to gather his wits and try again with a measure of introduced calm. Trembling, he lifted it to his mouth, took a corner between his teeth and ripped in a fluid motion. Hurriedly tipping out the contents onto one black-gloved palm, he shoved the rubbish back into its pocket. He drew the needle from its thin case, fixed it rapidly to the top of the syringe, made sure it was in place with a hard flick. He pushed away from the body on the floor, glanced up and down the hall. No-one coming, no-one there. Nothing but a heartbeat in one chest, a stillness in the other, and for a moment Roxas was tempted to press his ear to the man's chest to see if it was he who continued to vibrate with life's pulse. But he didn't have time, didn't have the nerve – feared the answer, perhaps, both negative and positive. Instead, he finished what he came to do, lined the needle up, paused for point-five of a second to ensure it was positioned correctly, before sliding it carefully through, through the layers of fabric, of skin, of muscle, past the protective embrace of rib, and straight, straight, straight into the heart.

"Dude." Roxas snorted awake, blinking through beads of sweat, Hayner slapping a hand to his back, the sound sharp. "We're back. I don't know about you, but I am so ready for air-con it's not funny."

"Since when is this weather ever funny?" Roxas muttered. He sat up, rubbing his head where it had been pressing against the door, faintly confused. He placed his hands on the dashboard, spread the slickened fingers apart, stared at them for a long moment, feeling the jump in the suspension as Hayner vacated, the vehicle suddenly lighter than it had been. He studied the nails, the wrinkles in his knuckles, the shine of perspiration that spread all the way down his arms, along his shoulders, down his chest and waist, dampening the waistband of his shorts. Hayner, standing beside the van, wound his window up in a few quick jerks, squinted in at the pensive blond, complained, "Hurry the fuck _up, _Roxas, you can contemplate your latest manicure _indoors, _can't you?"

Roxas sent him a withering look, flipped him off – a daily occurrence – and finally shifted himself. He unlatched the door, kicked it wide, slithered out onto the bitumen, put up the window and retrieved his shirt from the back. They locked the van up, headed inside, tired but accomplished. Aerith let them go early, no more orders having come through yet after that initial large load, and the pair gratefully washed their hands and arms and vacated.

They parted at the tram line, Roxas able, for once, to ride without being smothered by the peak-hour populace. Good thing, too – he really, really reeked. He'd have pitied anyone that had to be near him.

The short walk home from the tram common was… good. It cleared his head a little, the afternoon growing deep towards twilight, the air cooling almost imperceptibly. He paused as a red car pulled in front of him, into a driveway, and it took a moment of blinking to realise he was across the road from the 'for sale' house again. He sighed, "Holy shit," as images of his earlier vision came drifting up. He shook his head sharply, got jogging the last little bit before the owner of the car could recognise him.

Showering was good, but again, difficult. You didn't just – get daydreams like that and forget them. He was determined, though. He chose to focus on the way the water sluiced down his body, concentrated on the dirt under his nails, ignored the faint cry in his head, shivering reverberation of what had been lingering within ever since he'd first fallen to the ground that morning.

Dinner was cold Chinese food, consumed in boxers, portable fan whipping two feet away, oscillating teasingly, brushing silk and skin, sending spikes of hair periodically into weary blue eyes. Fuck the heat. It was disgusting. Glancing up, Roxas saw that the sun was down now. After five minutes of energy-gathering, he placed the half-empty container of rice and chicken to one side, chopsticks clacking quietly, and peeled himself from the couch. His back itched at the sudden freedom, sweat prickling between his shoulder-blades. The blond went to the window over the TV, pulled the curtains aside, unlatched it and pushed it wide. The sea-breeze was well and truly underway, filling the stifled apartment instantly, billowing past with a perfunctory greeting of chilling against skin. Roxas exhaled slowly, held himself up by the frame for a while, before lowering onto his elbows. His head dipped a little, eyes roaming over the limited view of Twilight Town. He searched in his heart for the flutter of pleasure such a sight usually gave him, wasn't concerned to find there was nothing. His mind might have thought, "Well, fuck," but it wasn't backed up by anything substantial. Another sigh, this one more exhausted than the last. Without feeling, he said aloud, "Fuck you, Twilight Town." Blue irises travelled. "Fuck you, and fuck your mother." A long minute passed. He straightened, shoulders hunched, turned and saw the TV sitting silently off. His gaze travelled to the rabbit-ear antenna sitting on top of the VCR, a hand reaching out idly and grabbing it up, twisting the thin metal, snapping each piece off and tossing them to the side. Grimacing, he shuffled back across the apartment, went to the kitchenette and grabbed up the portable phone. He punched in a number, held it to his ear, didn't respond when someone on the other end said, "Hello?" He leaned against the counter and waited. "Hel_lo?" _A beat, a sigh. "Roxas? That you, man?"

"I broke my TV aerial."

"…Anything else?" Hayner asked, sounding like he wished for all the world that his friend had at least waited til they'd got some sleep.

"Not so far. Tempt me. Got anything in mind? What should I break?"

"Gonna break my head, you asshole," Hayner groaned. "I'll be there soon."

"Don't bother," the blond replied dully. "I don't need you to come."

"Yeah, you say that," the other responded heavily, "but you always call me, don't you? See you soon."

"Fuck you," Roxas said to the dial-tone. He chucked the phone across the room, not caring where it landed, and sank down to sit on his haunches. Unable to think of anything better to do, he reached into his boxers, and jerked off to the echoes in his skull.

Sora liked pool. For some reason, it was the geometry of it that appealed so strongly to his mind. That, and the imagination involved. He had no trouble turning a simple game into an adventure worthy of a video-game – the white ball was his rocket ship, the coloured ones were the various worlds he'd visit, several in a single turn. The pockets were keyholes needing filling, or 'sealing' as he liked to think of it. Yeah, he was ten kinds of crazy, but it was better than whacking some balls around with a stick, right? One way or another, he wasn't the best pool player around – it didn't help that he insisted on sticking his 'keyblade', the cue, into the pockets all the time, whenever a world got sunk. It amused him to piss off those that took it more seriously. They weren't even playing his game, but they'd shoot irate glances across at him, as he muttered to himself and let out small, happy exclamations from time to time, for all the wrong reasons.

The smoky atmosphere of the pool hall was different to that of the clubs, which he was still avoiding for the time being, seeing as the one night he'd decided to not visit any, he'd ended up at one anyway. He was determined to not create a repetitive routine – it was important to him to keep things jumping around, never settle in one place for too long. He told himself it was to do with variety being the spice of life, and something deep down hesitated to disagree. Things were just fine as they were, after all. No point in thinking too hard over motives.

Beer glass empty on the corner of the table, foam melting at the bottom, Sora circled, eyeing off the remaining scatter of spheres, wondering at which point he should be coming in from. Yes, he liked the geometry, but it didn't mean he was any good at calculating it. He just enjoyed the way it made his mind work. The way things projected ahead like a game of chess, the way he could see the balls rolling and clicking long before he even chalked up his cue-tip. It was like following a winding road, without ever leaving the confines of home.

With the murmurs and shouts of conversation taking place around him, all on his lonesome, Sora finished off the game. He was both the hero and villain in this – he visited each world, sure, and sealed each keyhole, but in doing so, he sent absolutely every world off to its doom. Kind of depressing, in a fun sort of way.

When all had been taken care of, he returned the table to its original state, meandered back towards the bar, ordered another drink. He didn't really want it, but he knew he couldn't go home yet. He really, really didn't want to. It was easier, out here, like this, not thinking about what was to come, or what had come to pass. He sat on a high stool, sucked idly at his froth, let the bitter taste touch his tongue and slide down his throat. He didn't actually _like _beer, but – well – he'd blown the majority of his funds on candy, hadn't he? Damn it. He really wished he still had that stripy bag.

Eventually… there was nothing to continue to stay for. He was reluctant to go outside, but if he just lounged around without activity, he'd end up slipping back into his thoughts. That was – even less desirable than the outdoors. Heaving a sigh, he pushed up from the stool, stuck his arms into his jacket, exited the hall onto the pavement of Traverse Town. With not enough cash to go anywhere else worthwhile, he decided just walking would have to do. He wrapped his arms over his chest, head tilting to the side as he meandered down the sidewalk. With no destination in mind, auto-pilot took over to a certain degree, some deep-rooted instinct taking Sora away from the lights of the street, into the deeper, cooler darkness. Passing by the Traverse Town high school, he hesitated, turned and headed across the gravely entrance, around towards the massive football field eating up an entire two blocks of the city. He'd heard boisterous reports of the talent of the Traverse Varsity team, and figured that anyone running this enormous expanse day after day would _have _to be good – or at least, incredibly damn fit. His shoes passed onto grass, bending and crushing, hands disappearing into sleeves to preserve warmth.

It took about five minutes to reach the centre of the field, at which point Sora stopped. He took a deep breath of the cold night air, tipped his head back and surveyed the heavens with wide blue eyes, solemnly studying their depths. He felt lonely. Here he was, in the middle of a churning metropolis, under a starry sky, and – there was no one around, for miles it felt like. He could have been the last human alive, for all he knew.

He lowered his gaze, swept his surroundings slowly. There should have been… someone here _with _him. There was an emptiness at his side, and he could almost see the outline of the person that should have been filling it. Almost, but not – not quite.

A hand reached up to his heart as a small stab of pain tingled through his chest, pressing through his jacket, a frown forming on fine features. He hitched in a little breath, tried to get it deep enough. His eyes continued to scan. Yes, he was alone here. If he were to drop dead, here and now, no one would find him. Not until the schoolkids came, ready for another day of athletics, and discovered his twisted-limbed body sprawled along the grass.

So, then, why the hell did he feel so… watched?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **It's slightly shorter today, because of general rounding-out and the event line-up for the next chapter. Still, it's only slight! I'm quite, quite sure I've answered all the reviews for last chapter, but if I've happened to miss you, please be nice and don't behead me :) I am… balancing tea-cup towers, at the moment. One on each hand, one on my left foot, and one of my forehead. And right about now, I'd do a sweat-drop face thing, but FFnet refuses to let those through, much in the way of asterisks, so – imagine it!

_Note: _Btw, I don't know about you guys, but this one's frigging boring in my opinion - le sigh. You all know my standard transitional disclaimers, right? ;)

CHAPTER THREE

The sound of water dappling, followed by a low, contented sigh, husky, echoing slightly. Roxas sat on the broad bed, the cream comforter pristine, the pillows trimmed with satin, all of it grossly, almost sinfully, comfortable, at least to his mind. There were pieces of metal in his hands, fingers moving automatically over them in the space between his crossed legs. His features were creased in distracted concentration, shoulders hunched, ignoring the world in favour of his task.

The voice floated out from the bathroom, heavy, slow with drowsy pleasure, "You're really missing something here, Rox. So warm…" When there was no immediate response, it added with a purr, "Why won't you join me? You know I'd _love _it if you did…" Silence, the blond efficiently cleaning skin-heated steel. There was a swish from the painfully white bathroom, a body moving through liquid, the faint patter of several drops falling onto tiles. The voice came again, slightly louder: "Roxas. We're in a five-star fucking suite in the middle of Costa del fucking Sol. When was the last time we got this kind of time together?"

Blue eyes remained fixed on grey metal, dull, cloth moving rapidly back and forth to bring forth a desperate shine. The heavy, deep maroon velvet curtains were drawn tightly over the broad windows, effectively cutting out every mote of sunlight that dared to exist in the blond's darkness-ruled world. It could be said that he didn't really hear the voice – his ears were elsewhere, listening to others.

The water was disturbed more chaotically, an irritated noise coming from the reverberating depths of the adjoining bathroom, the owner of the voice stepping out onto towels so fluffy it hurt Roxas to touch them. He had stood there in the clean, clean depths of that icy room and attempted to stroke one, coming away as if knives had split his skin into strips.

He sped up his motions, slipping and clicking things together, knowing the voice was coming to whisper directly into his mind, wanting to be ready. It was muttering to itself, the splatter of droplets audible. Something was gargled noisily, spat directly into a drain several seconds later, a slight cough following the routine. A sniff, and then footsteps. Roxas was finishing up, just as the owner came out, one of the deadly towels around the waist, red hair draped down the pale back, green eyes sharp. "Sometimes, I find myself wondering why I bother," the voice said, coming from the redhead's mouth with a bite of resentment, of disappointment.

"So why do you?" the blond couldn't help but mutter. The redhead, back turned to him, rummaging through a large, ornate set of drawers, stiffened. His knuckles reddened around the wood, head lowering sharply for a moment, before, clutching the towel tightly, he spun around, face contorted with an angry response ready to lash from the tip of his tongue. It dried in the face of the black barrel pointed at him, the blond's task complete, gun cleaned and loaded, put back together in record time. The face of the one holding it aloft was hard, cold, alien in its unfeeling intensity. Whatever the voice was planning on saying, it fell away, replaced by a weakly uttered, "Roxas?"

"I'm pulling the trigger, Axel."

"Roxas – !" Lunging forward, futile as the blond's forefinger clicked down long before he could hope to stop him. The redhead tumbled into him, pushed by momentum, and they collapsed to the mattress, sinking down into the softness. The man's weight was crushing, deceptively clutching the narrow frame under a guise of thinness. Too much slender muscle pinned Roxas down, he couldn't shift it off when he tried. Tears sprang to blue eyes, slipping shut, falling limp under the burden, hands hot against the still-damp skin, cold from the air.

A long minute passed, the pair of them still, before the redhead started moving again. One bare arm lifted, pointed at the elbow, hand pressing beside Roxas' head as he pushed himself up. Their noses were inches apart, the green eyes opened wide, the azure remaining closed off, face turning a little to the side. "So…" His voice was hoarse, a bare whisper. "You really thought I'd do it."

There was a moment of stunned silence. "You – _meant _to leave the safety on, right?"

A slap, an enraged scream, the owner of the voice being flung back with startling strength. The safety was disengaged, the gun still clutched, and Roxas proceeded to shoot the pretty, hateful room to pieces, the redhead huddling low, naked now, arms over his head. None of the bullets touched him… but that's not to say none of them came close.

Roxas sat on the sofa in Hayner's apartment, large, dirty sneakers propped up on the coffee table, jeans wrinkled from spending the night sleeping in his clothes. The TV was on, displaying some shitty cartoon, volume lowered, a fortunate lack of rabbit's ears in sight. The blond wasn't back to normal yet, but he'd stopped trying to break things simply because he didn't give a fuck when they were broken. Daylight streamed through the windows, Hayner having thrown back the curtains, opened the glass to let whatever stray breezes felt like existing waft in and remind Roxas that yes, he was still alive.

He briefly chewed the end of a blue ballpoint, eyes losing their focus on the TV screen, seeing colours rather than images. On his lap sat a bundle of papers, the mail that he'd forgotten to collect, that Hayner had grabbed to give him something to read while he was at work. Bills. Bills, bills, and more bills, and the flicker of irritation at the fact indicated that he was on the mend. Last night had been a bad one, he knew that much. Never a good thing, waking up screaming that you feel dead inside. Hayner was inhumanly patient with him during these episodes, and he found himself wondering distantly if he should fix dinner to make it up to him. God only knew the taller blond was a water-burner – he always fell upon anything Roxas could be bothered to cook.

A commercial break came on, bringing him blinking sharply out of his daze, attention turning back down to the papers. He'd been going through systematically circling items, mentally tallying up the costs his bank statement claimed he'd been expending, much of which he had no recollection of. A lot of cash was being lost to automatic tellers outside malls, and he couldn't help but wonder if someone had grabbed his card and found a way to figure out his number. Feasible, almost, if it hadn't still been in his wallet.

_He_ sure as hell wasn't taking all this money out – at least, he was pretty sure he wasn't. There was no guarantee that he wasn't just forgetting in his blank fugues, episodes of taking out money and burning it to prove how fucking worthless it all was to him. He'd lost a few good possessions that way – as had Hayner. Roxas would never get over the guilt of having shattered the Struggle trophy on the high shelf, the blond's pride and joy, the one piece of undeniable proof that he'd owned Seifer's ass at least once in their lives. That particular act had sent Hayner spiralling into one of his own moods, and for two days straight they'd refused to talk to one another, one because he could care less about the power of speech, the other because he was suffering just a little bit of heartbreak. Another piece of the childhood Roxas had never co-experienced, snapped and thrown away.

Frowning at the numbers on his bare arm, where he was keeping diligent track of the expenses he remembered making, he found a disturbing anomaly between what should have been, and what was. It's not like he had the hugest budget in the world anyway – he couldn't afford to be losing cash to some invisible siphon. Which meant that either _he _was fucking up, the _bank _was fucking up, or some third party was fucking things up _for _him. Insurance, perhaps? Maybe his landlady had started taking rent directly from his account?

He scowled, shoving his forehead onto the heel of his palm, elbow jammed against the foamy arm of the couch, attention returning resentfully to the cartoons. He had _bills _due, damn it, and no goddamn parents to beg and borrow from like Hayner, Pence and Olette. And he'd be damned before he asked them for a loan – it was distasteful enough watching Hayner go crawling whenever he blew the last of his money on weed – he wasn't going to mimic that, without even a good reason as to why he needed it.

Deciding that he'd show the accounts to Pence later, see what the more mathematically-minded boy had to say about it all, Roxas gave up for the time being, shuffled the letters into a neat bundle and folded them over, lowering his feet from the coffee table, leaving the wad of sheets where his feet had been. He pried his shoes off, finally, the first time he'd wanted his feet free since arriving last night, after Hayner had sworn viciously that he was too goddamn tired to walk across town with Roxas in just his boxers, and forced the blond into clothing. Contrary as he became during these periods, he'd disappeared for a couple minutes, only to return in his jeans, a sweater, and a winter coat. The coat had been ditched into a gutter halfway, simply because he started to get dizzy from the overwhelming heat it provided. Hayner had rescued it, and wiped it clean when they got back to his apartment. The sweater had been peeled off partway through the night by the taller blond, when it had become too sweat-drenched by nightmares. And now, finally, Roxas was actually making the _choice _to be more comfortable. It was almost a relief.

Tired from the night's numb trauma, Roxas lay bonelessly along the length of the thin-cushioned sofa, head turned to the side to stare from under half-closed lids at the television, letting the comical, onomatopoeic sounds wash over and around. It wasn't long before he was dozing, lips parting, saliva pooling at the side of his mouth. Time passed, his breaths growing deeper, slower, vague flickerings of images flitting behind his eyelids and within his brain. He had a vague memory-dream of breaking the Struggle statue, born of the night's activities, subconscious rising to wonder if he'd fucked up again too badly. Warmth seeped into his muscles, safe and comfortable for once, the tension leaking out through his fingers, the tips of his hair, his bare, twitching toes.

There was a quiet rattle from the kitchen, stirring him slightly. He sucked in slowly, coughed a little, slurped and, expression disgusted, wiped the back of his hand across the side of his face. He wriggled around onto his back, hands folding against his t-shirted stomach, legs stretching easily. His eyes opened as another noise came, the kettle being flicked on. He frowned, rubbed one eye, glanced over at the window, seeking the quality of light to estimate the time of day. He hadn't thought _that_ much time had passed… Hayner must have come home early, chosen to not disturb his slumber. Shrugging slightly, grateful, eager to catch up on lost hours, Roxas was more than happy to slip back into the drowse.

A glass smashed, tearing him from the drifting state. Feeling heavy-headed, Roxas sat bolt upright, swaying, exhausted all of a sudden. "Hay? You okay?" he called, tongue clumsy. There came no response. Frowning, rubbing his wrist against first one eye, then the other, he pulled himself onto his knees, hanging over the back of the couch. "Hayner? What broke?" he asked, voice a loud mumble. Quick footsteps sounded, the curtains swishing faintly from another presence in the room.

The footsteps… they weren't – Hayner's.

Roxas froze, mid-yawn, jaw locking in place. His eyes widened, pupils dilating, ears sharply attuned to his surroundings. He listened hard, not moving, waiting for another tell-tale sign of some – some intruder or another. Someone was – in the room with him?

He looked around slowly, seeking. Aside from another rustle of the curtains, pushed by the wind this time, he saw… nothing. No one.

The kettle boiled, clicked off. Roxas flinched, fingers tightening around the sofa's loose material. After a moment's hesitation, he climbed to his feet, silent across the blond's wooden floors, gingerly picking up the large blue glass bowl of trail mix Hayner kept in the middle of the coffee table. He clutched the sides tightly, controlling his breaths, half hunched over as he continued to search for a foreign, unwelcome presence in the apartment. He made his way cautiously towards the kitchen, paused and peered around the corner, one eye peeping into the room. It was most definitely empty, undulating curls of white steam rising from the electric kettle by the sink. There was broken glass on the floor.

Soft steps close by, a breath against the side of his neck, causing him to stiffen, limbs frozen in place. It fanned him slowly. He heard an inhalation, closed his eyes, in the wrong position to be able to just attack. "What do you want?" he asked tightly.

His words were echoed almost immediately, barely a split second after each: "What do you want?"

He jerked forward, spun, trail mix spilling onto the kitchen tiles in a pattering of dried fruit and nuts, and Roxas found himself gaping into empty air. Eyebrows shooting together, he leapt for the doorway, glanced up and down, shuffled out with chest heaving under the force of his breaths. He hunted, checked the bedroom, the bathroom, returned to the living room, the front door just as secure as it had been when he'd chained it after Hayner had left for work without him, promising to tell Aerith he was sick. So – what the fuck?

Roxas turned slowly, rested against the white door, sliding down a little, pressing his back against it and scanning the room with bewilderment. He could've sworn… and then, there was the hot water… But there was no one here. And – the apartment was up too high for anyone to climb in through the windows, or from the patio. Who in their right mind would _do _that, even if they could? He looked around carefully, grimacing, a slight, uncertain smile twitching the corners of his mouth.

"Weird."

Very.

The bowl resting on his thighs, he reached up with one hand to trail fingers over his neck, where the breath had seemed to touch him. He shivered slightly at the touch, could still feel the warmth, lowered his arm back to the trail mix, straightened, returned it to the table, carefully placed back in its same position. The odd smile lingered on his lips, blue eyes darting about, heart pounding just the slightest bit harder than was normal. Perhaps… he'd been dreaming still. And was now – awake again. Maybe that was what had happened.

Maybe.

His eyes drifted to the cheap clock attached to the wall, noticing that Hayner would be home in another hour and a half. If he was going to make dinner, he'd have to figure out what he was going to do, give himself time to prepare it. God only knew the pair of them ate like horses, there'd need to be plenty. But first… he felt like a cup of coffee. And, well… the water was already boiled. No need to let it go to waste.

"We're _what?" _

Broken fragments had been swept, littered trail mix had been plucked up and thrown away. With those gone, there was no longer a sign that anyone at all had been in the apartment, and some uneasy part of Roxas wanted to keep it that way. It was too simple to dismiss it from his mind, lock it away into eventual forgetfulness, and never mention it to Hayner. The hours had passed, and now they were eating the dinner Roxas had managed to prepare with the blond's meagre supplies, the dim kitchen light hanging over their heads, spreading grey shadow in the dips of their faces.

Hayner stared over the small, round table, chewing slowly, eyeing him. The shorter blond had his face crashed into his hand, fork poised over his own plate. He started smacking himself. "Dude, I'm so tired," he groaned. Hayner speared a piece of carrot, shovelled it in, shrugged.

"Well, sure," he said, muffled by food, "but we already agreed to it ages ago. You can't just cancel out now." He swallowed, smiled deviously. "Olette'd hunt you down for castration." As Roxas continued to hurt himself in minor ways, the taller blond's expression faded, became a little hooded. "It's not like I'm wild on the idea, either," he pointed out, a hint of disgruntlement in his tone. "But, like Pence said, do you want us to be the ones to fuck things up with her? You know if we don't go, she'll think we're doing it deliberately, right?" He scowled. "And I am _not _going without full support from you and Pence."

Roxas sighed, held his fork up to the light, squinted at it as if considering how much Olette would understand him not going because he'd stabbed himself, 'accidentally', in the eye. "I can't believe this has to be tonight," he muttered. He rubbed his face agitatedly. "She couldn't have planned it for a night when I was feeling a little less – "

"Don't you mean, a little _more?" _Hayner grumbled, picking at his food, mood declining in the face of Roxas' lack of enthusiasm. "Either way, it's tonight, get over it. We're meeting at eight." A sharp, irritated exhalation, and Roxas continued with his meal. Hayner grabbed his glass, took a swallow of milk, choked a little as he tried to suddenly speak. Roxas raised his gaze, single eyebrow arching as he watched his friend turn red in the face. "Pipe trouble?"

The glass was banged down, the blond coughing and spluttering, eyes watering. When he regained control, he hissed, "Thanks for the help, nice to know you've got my back." Roxas shrugged, inspecting a piece of chicken before stabbing it. He still wasn't totally sure this was entirely hygienic – he'd dug it out from the back of the freezer, and during the defrosting process, the label had turned black, so he had no idea how old the meat actually was. "You weren't dying."

Hayner rolled his eyes, took another gulp of milk to get everything working properly again, and said hoarsely, "I was _trying_ to _tell_ you, someone came into the store looking for you today."

The blond's interested was piqued, head cocking to the side. "Looking for me?" He thought for a moment. "Who would be looking for me? What did they want?"

Almost fully recovered now, eyes still leaking just a bit, Hayner took a deep breath and shrugged, turning his attention back to his plate. "Dude didn't say, just said he was looking for you. Told him you were off sick, and he asked if you got sick a lot."

Roxas' eyelashes fluttered slightly, eyebrows rising. "He asked… if I get _sick _a lot?" He leaned back in his chair, a hand wrapping around his glass. "Huh." His face scrunched up. "What did he look like? Who do I know that would come looking for me?"

Hayner rolled one shoulder, shook his head. "He's no one I've seen around. Didn't leave his name, but he was tall, red hair like whoa."

The blond squinted, lips pursed. "Red hair…"

"Like _whoa," _Hayner helpfully supplied. "Oh, and – " He scratched his nails gently under his eyes in straight lines. "Tattoos, right there."

Roxas snorted. "What, like a clown?" He shook his head at Hayner's answering, food-filled laugh. "I don't think I _know _anyone with red hair and tattoos," he confessed. "Those are kind of memorable physical traits, right?"

"That, plus you're an anti-social shit," Hayner reminded him. "We're like, your only friends in Twilight Town, so I'd totally have seen you hanging around with him." While sawing chicken, he considered, asked, "Someone from your old city?"

"Naw." Roxas inhaled, pushed some food around his plate, appetite small. "Maybe he's from the bank," he theorised. "My statements have been fucked lately."

"Hey, yeah," the other blond agreed, brightening. "And you weren't home today, so maybe he came looking for you at work?"

Roxas nodded eagerly, triumph flooding through at the solving of the mystery. "That totally sounds like it could be it."

"So, why didn't he just fucking say so?" Hayner grumbled. "Instead of hanging over the counter flirting with me?"

Roxas barked out a strangled laugh, sitting up, feet slapping the floor. "He _what? _He _flirted _with you? Oh, shit, that's funny."

"Yeah, yeah, haw-fucking-haw," the other blond responded, unable to keep down a grin. "What can I say, the boys can't keep their hands off me."

"Oh, I've been nursing a crush for quite some time," Roxas agreed, nodding solemnly. "Dude, you, me and a wedding ceremony, I'd be happy for fucking _life." _

"Yeah," Hayner breathlessly laughed, "and you can cook and clean for me, right? You can be the little house-wifey, and I'll go out to work each day, and – and – " He collapsed into giggles.

"You'll come home, and say, 'Honey, I'm home, sugar!' And I'll come and fucking kiss you on the cheek in my pink frilly apron," Roxas chuckled.

"_Boy germs," _Hayner cackled. Roxas rolled his eyes.

"Well, _some_one's entertained," he huffed, smiling helplessly. He abandoned his cutlery on the messy plate, stretching his arms over his head. "Hurry up and finish, I need to go home and change if we're going out tonight."

Hayner quickly checked his watch, wiping his eyes. "Shit, yeah, we've only got an hour before we have to meet the train." He threw a piece of chicken across the table. "God, you're a pain in the ass. Where's your spare set?"

"I wore it the other night," Roxas yawned. "Stop being a pussy, just finish your food."

The other blond grunted. "I'm sorry, who's the pussy? _You're _the one that doesn't like walking alone in the dark."

Roxas flipped him off, pushing his chair back and standing, gathering his dishes and dumping them into the sink, got the hot water rushing down to hammer the leftovers from the plate. Hayner, seeing this, protested through a large mouthful, having shovelled the last of his meal into his mouth, _"Scrape your fuckin' plate first!"_

"Sorry," Roxas sang over the roar of the faucet, "too late!" The other blond went stomping over with a glare, bumping him out of the way, shutting off the water, chewing furiously in an attempt to be able to better tell Roxas what a complete and utter douche he was.

"Gonna block the goddamn drain," he muttered, as Roxas cheerfully sailed away, leaving him to wash them remainder. Swallowing at last, Hayner twisted, calling before he left the room, "Rox?" The blond turned inquisitively. "Does this mean you're feeling okay again? You're smiling."

Hayner was about the only person who wouldn't follow up the question with, _Don't you think you should get help for that? It's not natural… _God knew he heard it enough himself, mostly from Olette. Roxas slid his hands down the doorframe, leaning on it wearily. "Yeah," he said, the smile smaller but genuine. "I'm feeling… better, at least. Not totally back to normal, but getting there."

Hayner nodded, satisfied with this, and continued with the cleaning. Roxas pushed from the door, went to pull his shoes on, gathering his bank documents and tucking them into the deep pocket of his jeans. He decided to leave the winter coat at the apartment until he next needed it, Hayner wouldn't care.

He stood, could hear Hayner clanking in the kitchen, briefly wandered the room, before coming to a halt in front of the patio door. Twilight Town's namesake had even these long summer days fallen into darkness by six-thirty each evening. His hand went to the handle, thumb disengaging the latch with a click, Hayner's voice bellowing from in front of the sink, "Leave that fucking door shut!"

Roxas hung back on the handle, calling, "I won't let in the – "

"Don't. Fucking. Touch it," the blond warned, emerging, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. "We're leaving in, like, two minutes, and once you get into your spacey frame of mind out there, it's like you're high on life for the rest of the night." He cocked a hip to the side, cutting a hand through the air. "None of that shit tonight – I need you at your most normal." In response to Roxas' pleading expression, he pointed sharply, dishcloth swaying. "No. Hands off."

Sighing gustily, Roxas threw his hands in the air, slouching out of range of the door's temptation and allure. "So, what exactly are you hoping to achieve tonight?" he demanded testily. "Why do _I _have to act normal?"

Hayner was already back in the kitchen, finishing up hurriedly. His expression was distracted, Roxas dogging his steps. "I just – do you _want _to give Seifer an excuse to poke shit at us?" the boy responded after a long moment.

"I don't know." Roxas shrugged, hopping up to sit on the counter. "Maybe if he does, Olette'll get sick of him? Realise she's with an ass on legs?"

"Yeah, _or, _she'll decide he's right and _ditch_ us." The blond was drying their plates, movements agitated, the slightest hint of distress in his tone. He flicked Roxas a regretful glance. "Look, maybe you don't care a whole heap or something – I mean, I know you care, okay? But you're just gonna think she's a bitch and tell me to forget her if she decides we're more loser than she can be bothered with. But, dude, she's – she's one of my best friends."

"I know that," Roxas responded, with a frown. He thumped a heel against the cupboard he was sitting over, a sign of his displeasure. "You're wrong about me, Hay, and I'm kind of close to calling you an asshole on it. I just think you're overreacting – Olette's not gonna ditch us."

"Yeah, maybe," Hayner muttered, fiercely scrubbing the last dish dry, putting it away with a clatter. "Or maybe a bunch of best guy-friends don't fit into picket-fence dreams, you ever consider that?"

Roxas sighed, flapped a hand in his direction, leaning back against the wall. "Whatever you say. You're obviously determined to feel like shit over this."

Hayner darted him a hard look. "Wait here, I'll grab my clothes and change at your place." Roxas puffed out a breath, resting his head back with his eyes closed, ears following his friend's progress through the apartment. His hand, slipping down to the counter, accidentally triggered the kettle to start boiling. He quickly flipped the orange lever up again, blood chilling slightly. He glanced around the kitchen, jumped down to the tiles, checked that his bills were still in place in his pocket, hurried back into Hayner's presence, warm in comparison to the cold of being alone.

He pushed the blond's bedroom door, found him standing in his boxers and shirt, frowning pensively down at something in his hand. Upon hearing the shuffle of Roxas' feet, he looked up, swiftly jammed the object into his open sock drawer. Pretending not to have noticed – because that's what best friends do – Roxas leaned casually against the door, ankles crossed, and smirked. "You totally wanted me to find you in your underwear."

Hayner rolled his eyes. "Preparation for the wedding night, babe." He grabbed a pair of dark jeans from the lower drawer, dragged them on, slightly too long, covering his shoes when he crushed them on, the hems already well-frayed from months of dragging wear.

"Thought you were changing at my place?" Roxas asked. Hayner grunted.

"I'll take my shirt along so I don't sweat all over it before I have to, but it's easier to throw on pants here."

"You're gonna be hot," Roxas pointed out, indicating the thick denim. Hayner smirked.

"You haven't been to Olette's grandparents' beach house yet, Rox. It gets cold like a bitch there, direct sea-breeze, fwoosh!" He made a sharp motion with one arm, slicing it through the air on a slipstream. "Blows right up your fucking shorts, freezes you out of ever having kids."

"Such an enormous fear of mine," Roxas answered dryly. He straightened, left to wait by the door, trying not to wonder what Hayner had been so intent on not letting him see. Obviously, whatever it was, it was none of his business. He just had to curb whatever natural curiosity he felt over it, and allow the man his privacy. _Do not be a nosy bitch, _he recited, an affirmation he was forced to chant every time he found himself rifling through people's belongings simply out of interest of their inner selves. He'd had a few near misses with that little habit, and was clamping down hard. The last thing he wanted was for his friends to think he was some kind of snoop.

Hayner met him a minute later, with a small black duffel bag in hand. "Got your key?" he asked. Roxas dug in his pocket, flipped up the key-ring, jangling them, both the one to his apartment and his spare to Hayner's. They exited the home, the taller blond snatching the spare from Roxas' hand and using it to lock up. He tossed them back, the two of them hopping down the stairs to the front of the building, exiting out into the cooling night, which, despite Hayner's claims, Roxas didn't believe could be endured in jeans – once he got home, he was changing. It _was_ still summer, after all, even if the temperature did drop the later it got. Together, they set off down the sidewalk, Hayner perfunctorily checking his wristwatch to make sure they weren't going to end up arriving late. Apparently satisfied with their rate of progress, he dug his hand back into his pocket, the other swinging the bag, occasionally bringing it round to whack the blond at his side.

They grabbed the nearest tram, hanging off the edges despite the mostly empty cabin, the air rushing through Roxas' hair, blowing it sharply away from his face. They got to his apartment twenty minutes later, tramping up the stairs, entering for the first time since he'd snapped the ears off his antenna the night before. The phone was still in an undisclosed location, he found, when he attempted to call Olette to let her know they were almost on their way. While Hayner was changing, he grabbed the blond's cell phone from the counter next to his keys, dialling his home number and waiting. A few seconds passed, the hunt beginning as he heard the muffled noise nearby. Turned out to have fallen into the soil of the healthy green palm Aerith had given him for his housewarming, the week after Hayner had got him the job at her store. His triumphant smile faded, however, as he bent over the pot and realised that he had already apparently discovered it the night before – oh, right. Hayner had called halfway over, to make sure he hadn't jumped out of any windows… and Roxas had promptly buried the device in next to the plant, and… watered it.

"Fuck," he sighed, unearthing the cordless and holding it up by its aerial, dropping clumps of damp dirt, its trill sounding distinctly unhealthy in the open air. "I am – such an asshole."

"Well, sure," Hayner agreed, emerging from the bathroom with his hair shining from water and gel. He peered over the blond's shoulder, said, "Ahh," with comprehension, patted his back. "Yes, yes you are, in fact, an asshole."

Abandoning the abused telephonic device, he went to change into shorts and a fresh t-shirt, bringing a sweater along for good measure. He combed the knots in his hair, formed from the night on Hayner's couch. He supposed he should really have a shower, but he'd had one after work the day before, and was pretty sure Hayner would hurt him if he made them late.

They left his apartment, setting off for the train station at a jog. It wasn't too far from Roxas' apartment to Central, and it wasn't long before they were taking the short steps, pushing into the brightly-lit interior, eyes peeled for their little group. Hayner spotted them first, groaned softly. "Check it out – he brought his cronies."

"Of course he did," Roxas sighed. "This is a mingling exercise, isn't it? One big happy family?"

"Dysfunctional fucking family," the other blond muttered, before fixing a bright expression on his face as they approached.

"Well, well – chicken-wuss one and two, if this isn't a pleasure," Seifer greeted, an arm wrapped firmly around Olette's shoulders, the girl positively bubbling with excitement. Roxas wasn't sure what thrilled her so much about this brief combination of their groups – Seifer didn't like them, they didn't like him, and he didn't know quite how she was managing to pretend that it had a hope of working out.

"Seifer!" Hayner's smile was filled with teeth. "The pleasure's all ours, I'm sure." The tall man smirked complacently, rolling his eyes slightly.

"I'm so glad you guys made it okay," Olette said, happily. "Now we're just waiting on Pence."

"He'd better show," Hayner warned under his breath, a thousand and one threats no doubt running through his mind for the brunet if he and Roxas got caught in this by themselves. Roxas honestly didn't see what the huge deal was – sure, it was awkward as hell, but as long as they played nice for Olette's sake, there wasn't anything to get worked up about. He just resigned it as another one of things he didn't get – needed a lifetime of mutual hatred behind it as fuel. The two blonds eyed the silent figures at Seifer's back, who looked just as uneasy with the situation as Hayner.

Ten minutes of uncomfortable small-talk passed, Hayner at least making an effort, though his conversation was mostly directed at Roxas and Olette. Seifer insisted on smirking each time he started talking, tightening his grip on Olette almost imperceptibly. At last, two minutes before the train beside them was scheduled to leave, Pence came hurrying along, flapping his ticket, out of breath and red-cheeked. "Sorry," he panted, swiping the bangs from his eyes. "Got caught up in the dark room again." He fixed Olette with a grin. "Won't happen again, promise."

The girl, who had been looking increasingly tense at his absence, relaxed, nodded her forgiveness, and the group finally boarded, settling down for a half-hour journey. The train stopped once, briefly, at Sunset station. More people got off than on, and soon they were the only ones on board other than one woman drowsing in the corner of the carriage. Seifer murmured softly into Olette's ear, her expression peaceable, and Roxas found himself wishing that the guy was less of a douche – he seemed to make her happy, and it sucked that he was such a shit to the rest of them, forcing this weird divide between them all.

Sighing, he copied Hayner's resolute pose, turning his head to gaze out the window. It would have been so nice to spend tonight sleeping off the after-effects of his latest episode, but their resident female had made it all-too clear that such a lack of presence would be nothing more than a deliberate affront. His gaze slipped to the side, fixing on the slew of numbers scribbled across his arm. He frowned, licked his thumb and rubbed at the marks for a couple minutes, succeeding in smearing them across the golden hairs, darkening them. With a sigh, he lowered himself in the double-seat, sweater balled up in his lap, and waited for the trip to be over, resting his crown against Hayner's arm. He thought he heard a faint sneer in the background from Seifer, but ignored it in favour of the light drowsiness hanging over his head.

Sora slept, and hated every - goddamn - moment.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Ahhhh, I'm sleepy. It's been a busy week, but I'm pretty sure I'm 99 up-to-date. That last percentage belongs to the roughly three reviews I know I saw before my disappearing act, but can no longer for the life of me find – sorry! It's very awesome to be back online, though, and posting at my leisure, and I definitely encourage reviews this time :) Ohhh, before I forget, too – I want to apologise for the gross amount of swearing in the chapter prior to this one in this story – I mean, wow. I'll edit that out tomorrow, because I need a computer-break for now, but _golly, _there's a lot of it. It's because I was so tired – my mental swearing rises three-thousand percent – but I'm disappointed that it got that bad. Won't happen again! -salutes-

CHAPTER FOUR

"Roxas, wake up, we're here." There was a beat, during which the blond didn't move, before Hayner hissed, "Dude, you're making us look gay in front of Seifer."

The older male, two seats back, overhearing this comment, smirked as he stood, an arm looped around Olette's waist. "Oh, don't stop on account of me – you two are just _darling _together." Shooting him a sour look, Hayner removed himself from under Roxas' head sharply, the blond dropping to the seat with a startled grunt, human pillow suddenly gone. As Hayner pushed past him into the aisle, straightening his shirt, Roxas sat up, rubbing his head, the beginnings of petulance hovering over his mouth. Pence, gripping the backs of the seats as the train slowed, patted his shoulder as he passed, a cheerful, encouraging smile in place. "Come on, Roxas – it's not far from the station to the beach house. You can take some time to wake up there." He paused as Roxas grabbed his arm, the pair of them managing to haul the exhausted boy to his feet. Pence was frowning by the time he was upright, holding him steady. "Wow, you don't look so hot," he remarked. "You're all pale. Been sleeping okay?" Roxas shook his head, blowing out a sigh, dismissing the subject.

"Forget it." Darting a glance Seifer's way, meeting Olette's happy gaze only briefly, Roxas gripped the seat as the train drew to a halt. Hayner was already at the door, waiting impatiently to put some space between himself and Seifer. Pence steered the blond in front of him, hands on his shoulders, following him down the aisle to meet Hayner, Seifer and Olette behind them with Fuu and Rai bringing up the rear. At last, not soon enough for Hayner, the doors slid open. They exited the carriage, onto the brightly lit, lonely station platform. Already, you could hear the waves, smell the dead fish and salt of the ocean, sweeping through on a cold, stiff breeze. Roxas' arms went around his waist, the sudden chill bringing a carpet of goosebumps up across his flesh. Damn it, Hayner had been right.

The train pulled away again, its noises loud and echoing in the emptiness, the group waiting until it was out of sight, attention drawn to the only point of movement in the entire station. As it disappeared around a curve, its engine growing distant, they all took a moment to look at one another, a small amount of wariness present in all eyes but Olette's, who, by either choice or blindness, remained oblivious to the undercurrent of tension. Smiling, she shrugged under the weight of her boyfriend's arm. "It's this way," she said, voice strangely loud in the silent, unpopulated space. "It isn't far – we'll be there soon." Hayner took the lead, grabbing Roxas and Pence surreptitiously, tugging them to walk alongside him. They stumbled a little, fell into line, the trio the first of them to descend the well-lit stairs leading down to the sidewalk, swallowed almost immediately afterwards by the shadows of darkness.

The town was small, two stops further along than the beach that had made Twilight Town so popular by association. Olette's grandparents' summer home was about fifteen minutes from the station. Shoes crunched over a medley of dirt, sand and gravel, all ground into the crumbling edges of the asphalt, the sidewalk disappearing fast to become a thin stretch of road. The lights of town were only a five minute walk away, a couple of broken streetlights pointing the way, but the group turned off before they reached the main strip, heading down a side road for a mile, then along a thin, rambling lane, its surface rocky and overgrown with weeds. The scent of honeysuckle grew to mingle with the oceanic by-products, creating a thickness to the sharp air, the vines tumbling and tangling along a battered-looking fence running alongside the path. The group thinned out into single file or two abreast, Hayner determinedly piloting the way. In the darkness, moon present but not enough to cause sufficient illumination, it was easy to trip and stumble, lose your way along one of the several small animal tracks that merged seamlessly with the lane. Having been here before, Roxas' friends moved confidently along, and within minutes the old house came into view, looking old and ramshackle, a weather-worn door opening straight out onto the lane. The wood was peeling and mottled, unattractive; a permanently dirty window peeped out from a thicket of green growth extending from the side of the narrow path, revealing nothing of the interior.

Without waiting for Olette to give the go-ahead, Hayner zeroed in on the weed-ridden pot-plant beside the door, in a dirty, parched terracotta dish. Roxas thought it was something Aerith was likely to want to adopt, limp and hopeless, brutalised by years of brackish air, saline-drenched rain. On the bottom of the grubby pot, scotch-taped in place, was a partially rusted spare key. Hayner ripped it off, set the plant back down with a lingering glance that told Roxas the same thought had occurred to him, and jammed the key in, jiggling it while shoving the door with his shoulder. It popped open, hinges predictably screechy, but after the first few inches it quieted down. The seven of them shuffled through, leaving the bracing wind behind, the stillness uncomfortable in comparison, the walls filled with several months' worth of built-up heat. They were in a laundry-room; ancient sink, broken-down washing machine, a scattering of cockroach droppings along the counter. A weird smell hung in the air, Pence making a low, disgusted sound as it hit him. "Jeeze, let's open some windows," he muttered. With a nod, Hayner joined him, the pair of them setting out through the dark house. Seifer choked a little, raised a wrist to his nose.

"God, what _is _that?"

"Damp." Fuu's voice cut through the hush with flat precision, her eyes moving slowly to take in their new surroundings.

"Hey, I think she's right, ya know?" Rai seconded, nose wrinkling. "Smells like mould – ya know?"

"We know," Roxas sighed. Olette nodded.

"That's what it is – the roof leaks when it rains, and no one's around to mop it up. Grammy and Pop don't come down this way too often anymore – they've got a place in Traverse Town, and the outgoing traffic bothers them. They're getting kind of old for an old beach-house without power."

"No power?" Seifer echoed, mildly. "How are we meant to see?"

Roxas wandered off at this point, searching for Hayner and Pence. His steps thudded dustily, the disturbed air tickling his sinuses. He found his friends wrestling with a stiff window in a larger room, a thread of moonlight entering through the glass. Soundlessly, he moved to a faded loveseat along the back wall, lowered himself into it, slumping back to watch them work. Grunts and curses whispered out from between Hayner's teeth, reminiscent of when they moved anything large at work, making Roxas smile faintly. Eyes adjusting to the dark, he studied the room. Grey cobwebs, a perpetual layer of dust, a bookcase, pull-out sofa-bed, low coffee table in the centre of the floor. It wasn't cramped, but neither was it spacious.

At last, with some particularly vicious swearing from the blond, Hayner and Pence got the window up, a gust of air inhaling into the stifled house. Olette entered at that moment, her boyfriend and his cronies trailing, each of them toting a flickering candle. The brunette let out a dismayed noise as the wind made her flame gutter and die, several drops of hot wax splattering her shirt and drying hard. "Nice one, jerks," Seifer dryly commented. "You sure know how to pick your moments."

Hayner, very obviously, bit down the response that was dying to be snapped out, swallowed it into his chest. A smile was forced onto his lips, eerie in its lop-sided determination to seem perfectly happy at being insulted, and instead he dug into his pocket, pulling out a gas lighter. He went to Olette, said, "Sorry," and flicked up a flame to relight her wick. Seifer seemed satisfied with himself. Roxas wondered what the hell he was playing at; it burned to see Hayner having to suppress his natural aggression, when someone like Seifer was so goddamn deserving of it. He still wasn't convinced that Olette was going to have to choose between them – it all seemed so juvenile, to think in those terms – but he hoped she recognised the lengths they, and Hayner most of all, were going through to keep her around. The rangy blond knew he was the one that sparked the majority of the arguments, and so was clamping down on everything from that vein of his personality. It was going to give him heart problems, if he kept it up. A facial tic and a nervous cough.

Hazel eyes shifting past them, Hayner wondered, "Where's Roxas?"

"Here," the boy replied sedately, startling the entire company but Fuu. The candles swung his way, softly illuminating the back of the room.

"Jesus, man!" Seifer exclaimed, clutching his chest with his free hand.

"You should warn people, ya know?" Rai added, agitated.

"Ahh, that's Roxas," Pence said airily, flipping a hand his way. "You hang around him long enough, you'll start wondering if he ever trained to be a ninja."

"Should've known," Hayner agreed, grumbling. He grabbed a stubby little candle from the bookshelf, lit it rapidly, dripped some wax onto the wood and squished the base of it onto the swiftly drying fluid, sealing it in place. Several others were lined up alongside the books, Hayner and Pence lighting each one and setting them up around the room as Olette showed Seifer, Fuu and Rai to the sofa. She was swung onto the tall blond's lap, giggling, the man's sidekicks exchanging faint, eye-rolling glances. It seemed the two groups were united on that front at least; this crossbreeding thing just wasn't right.

As Hayner and Pence took their places next to Roxas, the room now sufficiently illuminated, a steady, awkward silence fell over them all. It was all very well for Seifer and Olette to make gooey eyes at one another, but what the hell were the rest of them supposed to do? Their history was long and violent; there wasn't much to talk about, except past battles and old ire. A throat was cleared from Seifer's side of the room. Hayner's long, knob-knuckled fingers rested together at the tips, the boy studying them intently, while at his side, Pence's gaze drifted across the ceiling, studying the various shifting shadows. Someone sighed. "So… crappy weather," Roxas remarked after a while. "Too hot, right?"

"Way too hot," Hayner agreed quickly.

"It makes me itchy when I'm working out," Rai complained.

"I don't mind it," Pence chirped, "but that's because I'm usually in the air-conditioning."

"Asshole," Seifer said conversationally. Olette giggled nervously. "So, anyway, what's to drink around here?" He nudged the brunette. "You said something about a bar, right?"

"Right!" Brightening, Olette jumped to her feet, grabbed his hand and pulled him up. "Why don't we make a tour of it? Rai and Fuu, you can come – Roxas, too. I'll show you around properly, and we'll grab some things from my grandparents' bar while we're at it."

"Pass," Roxas dismissed. He'd come along out of duty, even though he was exhausted, but he wasn't going to play happy tourist for her. He wasn't back to himself enough to do something nearly so selfless. Olette's expression faltered a little, eyes darting over to Seifer, but the smile was back to full-force after only a second. "Okay, then. Maybe the guys can show you around later?"

"Yeah, all four rooms," Hayner snorted, stretching out his legs.

"Plus the bathroom," Pence reminded him. Rolling her eyes a little, shooting them warning looks, Olette led the three others out of the room, both she and Seifer toting the candles they'd come in with, Rai's and Fuu's stuck to the coffee table's corners like the setup for a séance. Once they were out of earshot, Hayner let out a breath. "Christ."

"You're doing well," Pence encouraged. "He's trying to bait you, but you're resisting."

"Keep it up," Roxas said sleepily. Hayner scowled, shoved him hard, grabbing him before he hit the floor with a yelp. Wide-eyed, he demanded, "What the hell was that for?"

"Don't you _dare _fall asleep," the blond growled. "I can see it – you're just about dropping off in your seat. I swear to God, Roxas, if you abandon me now…"

"I'm _here, _aren't I? What do you want, for me to prop my eyelids open with matchsticks? I'm fucking _tired, _Hayner," Roxas whined. "I had a long night, okay?"

"Then I guess that makes two of us," came the sharp reply. "I was there, remember?"

Pence let out a strangled laugh. "You guys – I'm so glad Seifer wasn't around to hear that." He peered curiously at Roxas. "Rough night, huh? More of those nightmares?"

Roxas was more inclined to slip into slumber during his emotionless periods, the will to remain conscious all but entirely gone. When he did, nightmares usually resulted, loud and violent, just like they had last night at Hayner's. The others had all born witness to Roxas' inner demons, even though the blond denied insistently that there was nothing in his mind to spark it. Whatever it was, was connected to the cause of these emotional low-tides – some kind of chemical imbalance or something. He was sure of it.

He shook his head roughly, then reluctantly nodded, a confused contradiction. He settled himself back on the loveseat, Hayner's tight grip loosening on his shirt, relenting slightly in his ferocity. "I'm doing okay?" Both boys nodded.

"Better than okay." Roxas attempted support, flashed him both thumbs. "Stellar, man. Seifer's like a flesh-eating bacteria – just don't let him under your skin, and you're cool." Shaking his head, grinning crookedly, the thin blond stood, went to stand by the window, obstructing the influx of cold air. The candle-flames ceased their constant flickering, lengthening and calming. Roxas' eye was drawn to them, solid-looking but insubstantial enough to sear. From one pocket he pulled a single cigarette, his lighter from the other, setting it alight, sucking the filter. The smoke was alternately blown inward and drawn out. Roxas sniffed. "Tobacco," he observed. Hayner, elbows on the window frame, glanced over his shoulder, shrugged a little.

"Trying to give up the green stuff. It's fucking with my head, man."

"We've been telling you that for – how many years?" Pence said archly, hands lifting in exasperation. He didn't look mollified by Hayner's alternative. "Can't you just stop smoking altogether, though?" Hayner took on an irate look.

"Back off," he bit off. "I'm doing it how it's easy, okay? I go from that to this," he flicked the building ash out into the wind, "then maybe, one day, I switch to patches or gum or whatever the fuck, and I'm out of the woods. You want me to fail, keep pushing the cold-turkey option."

There was a brief silence. "Olette'll be pleased," Roxas said. Hayner lifted his shoulders.

"I'm not doing it for her," he grumbled. Roxas smiled to himself, sent Pence a secret glance. "I fucking saw that, Roxas," the blond added mildly. He flipped him off, turned back to the wind, exhaling a ribbon of smoke. As Pence went to study the books on the shelves, Roxas tried to stay awake, attention drifting time and again to the occasional dance of the candles. There was something – familiar about them. That sounded crazy, when he gave the little tug in his gut form, because, hell, they were _candles – _of course they were familiar, he'd seen them in every electrical black-out of his life. There weren't too many people around that didn't recognise a fucking _candle _flame. But, as much as he tried to rationalise it in his mind, he couldn't shut off the strange squirming it gave the pit of his stomach to stare into the miniature, flickering fires.

He was frowning deeply by the time Olette and company returned, toting various bottles of assorted volume. Seifer, for once, was looking quite happy, and not because he was abusing Hayner or locking tongues with Olette. Another reason they didn't like Olette with him – Hayner might've been a stoner, but Seifer was a goddamn borderline alcoholic. Or at least, that was what they told themselves, more reason to hate him just that little bit more for being with their resident brunette. "Well, if it isn't the _fun_ committee," Seifer greeted sarcastically, taking in their positions around the room. "You guys need this even more than I do." He tossed a bottle of bourbon at Roxas, who caught it deftly, rolling it over to look at the label.

"I hate bourbon."

A bottle top already between his teeth, being unscrewed, Seifer rolled his eyes. "So choose something else, dick-wad." Roxas sent him a flat look. What was it about this guy that had Olette holding her tongue? What happened to the stories of the old days, when the three of them had gone up against Seifer, when Olette would shrilly tell the bully to leave them alone? Tell Hayner to ignore his immature taunting? She sure as hell wasn't doing shit about it now. Something akin to disappointment threaded through the blond's veins and, despite his dislike of the stuff, he unscrewed the cap and chugged down a shot of bourbon. "Roxas." His eyes swivelled over, to where Hayner was crushing out his cigarette on the windowsill with one hand, the other gesturing for the bottle. "Gimme the goddamn bourbon, you won't appreciate it, and it'll make you sick." Shrugging, Roxas tossed it over, without replacing the lid. Hayner was forced to lunge for it, Olette letting out a gasp as it smacked audibly against his palms.

"Roxas! What on earth was that for? You could have broken it or spilled it!"

Hayner was shooting him a suspicious look. Roxas had been improving on a steady bell-curve, but here he was, displaying signs of another funk coming on. Two in a row was unheard of. "Olette – you still got that sake?"

Fuu made a small movement, glowering. "Mine." She nursed the small clay bottle against her chest. Hayner snorted.

"Fuck that. I saw it first. Hand it over."

"Hayner, don't be rude!" Olette scolded. "Why shouldn't Fuu – "

"No, it's okay," Seifer interjected, a hand held up. Faint amusement tugged at his mouth. "Fuu, give the loser the sake."

"He's not a loser," Pence stated baldly from the bookshelf. "And by the way, I want a beer." Rai threw one at him, Pence having to move fast to keep from getting hit square on the nose. Glares erupted all round, the shaky truce coming into question, but Fuu stepped forward, thrust a hand out. Hayner crossed to her, grabbed it without thanks, went to sit beside Roxas. Ignoring the scowl Olette was sending his way – it always seemed to be Hayner that lucked out – he held the bottle up in front of the blond. "Okay, you looking at this? You've never tried rice wine, right?"

"No."

Hayner sank his nails into the cork peeking over the neck of the bottle, started twisting and pulling. "This stuff is great, good for what ails you, if you know what I mean. Usually you'd warm it first, but – lack of electricity equals drinking it cold."

"See, Fuu?" Seifer drawled from across the room, sitting once again on the sofa, a beer balanced on one knee, Olette on the other. Fuu was sitting on the floor in front of Rai's knees, lining up shots of tequila. "Only people with shitty taste drink cold sake; they were doing you a favour by taking it off your hands."

Hayner was determined – Seifer wasn't riling him up this time. Roxas was the sole focus of his attention, concern and frustration rising. The cork popped free, Hayner palming it, handing the bottle over reverently. "Okay. It's good, I promise. Try it." An eyebrow perking, Roxas took it, went to sniff it. "Don't!" Hayner was glaring. "Just drink it, dude." Then he stopped, brightening slightly at the realisation that Roxas actually cared about not killing his mouth. He calmed almost instantly, watching as the boy shrugged, lifted it and took a swallow. There was a brief pause, before the blond started coughing harshly, eyes watering, holding the bottle away. _"Holy Christ, Hayner!" _Hayner grinned devilishly, hands rubbing together.

"Now, my pretty, you truly are one of us."

Choking, Roxas gasped, "That was _horrible." _

Hazel eyes rolled. "Oh, come on, you baby. It's better when it's warm, okay?"

"It tastes like cheap _vodka." _

Hayner was beginning to take offence on behalf of the beverage. "Cheap vodka!" He slapped the side of Roxas' head. "Have a little respect, man, that stuff's twelve years old."

"_Old, _cheap vodka," the blond redefined, sniffing, wiping his eyes, throat hoarse.

"You have no culture, you know that?" He reached out, plucked the bottle from its outstretched position, brought it back around to press against Roxas' chest. "Have another drink and quit whining. You owe me."

Roxas sent a pointed look over to where Seifer was laughing as Fuu started slamming back the tequila, a small crease appearing between Olette's eyebrows. _"Who _owes _who?" _

Pence came to join them with a sigh, settling between the two blonds. "I don't know about you guys, but I don't see this night ending well. Not with alcohol involved."

"That's why you're going to take me for a walk when I start getting really drunk," Hayner informed him calmly, before taking a long swallow of bourbon. "I can't be drawn into a fight if I'm not around, can I?"

So, the night progressed. Roxas quickly lost all sensation in his taste-buds, which made the sake easier to consume. He vaguely heard Olette, at one point, asking him to not finish the bottle off – her grandparents wouldn't be happy if they found out – but the front of his skull was too filled with dense fog, nose tingling too interestingly, for him to pay attention. He continued to drink. On the other side of Pence, Hayner began a gradual, graceful descent from the seat, starting halfway through the first hour, finding completion towards the end of the second. By this point, the two groups had mingled and separated again, the warmth of friendliness spontaneously short, tipsiness giving way to future hangover material.

His head rolling against Pence's knee, the brunet remaining more-or-less sober to act as a voice of reason if it was needed, Hayner slurred to the two of them, "I think it's time I went for a walk…" Roxas turned his face to Olette, eyes catching up twenty seconds later, a blurred display of heavy, sloppy making-out going on on the other sofa. His expression scrunched up slowly. "Ew," he commented. "I was – I was happier when I was looking the other way." Hayner was pawing Pence's leg clumsily.

"Take me oouut, Pence-y boy. I'm like a dog that needs the bathroom." He grabbed handfuls of the loveseat, dragging himself unsteadily to his feet, Pence sighing with affectionate patience, standing and helping Roxas up, neither blond doing too well at the whole balance game. "And you know – you know what you do with dogs needing the bathroom?" He pushed himself hard, staggering sideways across the room as he bellowed, _"You throw them out the window!" _He hit the windowsill, grabbed the edges, started hauling himself through. Olette broke free from Seifer.

"Hayner! Oh, for Pete's sake, not again! Get away from the window!"

"_But Olette, honey, I'm a dog that needs to pee!" _Hayner slithered, disappeared, a thump and a curse alerting the room to the fact that he'd met the ground on the other side. There was some mumbling, and by the time Pence and Roxas reached the abandoned sill, Hayner was halfway back to standing, clawing his body upright by way of the rickety latticework clinging to the side of the house. "Okay, through you go," Pence encouraged. Roxas drew breath to protest, but by the time he started talking, he was already face-first in the long grass, chewing dirt as he attempted to form consonants. His feet were still in the air, in the warmth of the house, kicking the wall, the shivering glass panels. Determinedly strong hands seized his ankles, his back-end being manipulated through the gap, knees thudding to the earth a moment later, Roxas rolling awkwardly in the search for equilibrium. Pence followed with a great amount more dignity, bent and helped the floundering blond to his knees. Roxas' hands snaked up, grabbed the windowsill, arms pulling him up to peer blearily back into the softly-lit room. "You jus' – have fun with Seifer while we're gone, 'kay Olette?"

There was a sigh from within, the question directed at Pence: "Where are you taking them?"

"Probably to the beach," the brunet answered. Roxas let go of the sill, fell from view.

"_To the beach!" _he roared, the war-cry echoed a moment later by a far-away-sounding Hayner. Pence lifted him to his feet, a hand under his elbow, the pair leaving the house behind. "How do we get to the beach?" the blond wondered.

"It's okay, me and Hayner know the way," the other boy reassured. He raised his voice. _"Hayner, head for the beach!"_

"_To the beach!" _came the distant, responding confirmation. There was a sharp crackling and rustling as the inebriated blond changed course. It was only a short walk before crunching vegetation became sagging sand, Roxas, having only recently got the hang of walking solo, nearly toppling, rescued by Pence. He clutched the brunet's shirt tightly, knees bowing, feet shuffling in an attempt to regain balance. "I'm okay," he mumbled.

"You won't be saying that in the morning," Pence smiled crookedly. "You've got work tomorrow, remember?"

Roxas blinked rapidly, an eyebrow sinking low in bewilderment. "I do?" Pence nodded. "Well, fuck."

Pence suddenly whispered a curse. "Roxas, I'm going to have to put you down for a minute, okay?" Without waiting for a response, he lowered the blond quickly, set off across the sand, shouting, "Hayner! _Hayner! _Don't go in the water!"

"_I'm the Little fuckin' Mermaid, Pence!" _

"You're a drunken ass, is what you are…" As Pence disappeared into the darkness to save Hayner from drowning literally in his own stupidity, Roxas sat on the softness and slowly looked around, a surprised expression plastered in place. "Well, fuck," he repeated. He was shivering, the wind sharp, blowing through his clothing as if he weren't even wearing any, setting a chill against his skin. It was sobering, a little, though his head remained cotton-clouded, thoughts swaying and swimming, following each slightly nauseated stream of consciousness until it brought him back to its beginning again. The beach swirled a little, the start of a helicopter spin, but ceased almost as suddenly as it struck. He was relieved; any of that crap, and he'd end up hurling the mystery-chicken all over the place. He wondered if Hayner was faring any better.

Lifting his head from where it had unconsciously sunk to between his knees, he blinked hard a couple times, slow, blurring vision scanning the immediate area in search. When he couldn't see them, he listened – tried to hear Pence, Hayner's drunkenly dulcet tones. Nothing. He was – alone. A frown slowly sank his features, sharp and steady disquiet settling through his bones. The wind seemed as if to blow colder, a stripping quality to it, as if he were more vulnerable all of a sudden. The blond drew his knees up to his chest, arms wrapping around them, burying his mouth against one knee, balling up to keep warm.

Uneasiness prickled the back of Roxas' neck, little pins stab, stab, stabbing. He reached up a couple times to slap at the skin, convinced there was something there, something crawling – but each time, he met himself, only himself. A thumb slipped between his lips, teeth worrying the nail, waiting for Pence. Every few seconds, he'd glance around, sucking in a breath, because it was _worse _when he was intoxicated. He hadn't realised it would be, but it was, it was worse, and he'd never been alone like this before. This being-watched feeling, the one he could usually talk himself out of without much effort – it was worse.

He could feel eyes on him. Distant, like the stars, but close enough to set his teeth on edge, a constant breath just out of reach of his cheek. Thing is, earlier in the day, there _had _been a breath. Roxas fell quickly into paranoia, eyes prowling, heart thudding tightly, muscles trembling, taut. All the warmer elements of his inebriation were withering, leaving his thoughts clearer but icier, lips sealing together, shoulders hunching. It wasn't even thirty seconds later that he decided he couldn't handle it anymore – his chest was starting to pound uncomfortably, pulse jumping at his throat, and combined with the confusion of his current chemically-induced mindset, it was more than he could stand.

Hands reached out, grabbed twin handfuls of unresisting sand, fingers digging deep enough to find some form of support. Roxas pulled himself shakily to his feet, bent over awkwardly, like some kind of open-target. He felt a shudder of fear, a small gasp choking his throat, the blond unfolding, straightening, eyes shifting slowly to the side, expecting to find someone there. He turned in an unsteady circle, feet sliding through the sand, scanning the treetops lining the back-edge of the beach. Shivering hard, teeth chattering, unsettled and unhappy, Roxas backed away from the utterly obscured vegetation, all too easily imagining snipers, binoculars, high-powered telescopic shutters, a cold, unreasoning eye staring him down without him even realising.

He freaked out, quietly, couldn't take another second of it at this intensity and turned, lurched across the shore, heading for the last-known position of Pence and Hayner. Several times, he went as if to trip, stumbling sharply, but fear drove him onward. No panic, no overwhelming quality to it, just a cold, numb fright. He hit the water before he was ready to, the icy shock, the sudden slipperiness, dragging him to his knees. He collapsed with a shout, gasping and wheezing, swearing and scrabbling, making more splash and noise than even Hayner had. Sense caught up with him after far too long a delay, quieted his motions, made him sit dripping, sniffing, miserable, as still as possible. He barely even knew what the hell he was doing, waist-deep in brine.

Then came the body, throwing itself upon him with a roar. _"Roxas!" _

The blond bellowed, shoved up to his feet with terrified strength, elbows swinging hard and wild, a shove, a duck, a push, then a punch so filled with power and drive it knocked Hayner right off his goddamn feet, _bam,_ straight into the water on his back. The taller boy started thrashing, choking, face slipping beneath the surface. As Roxas shrieked and leapt back, Pence caught up with them, plunged his arms down into the sea and hauled Hayner up by a handful of hair, a handful of collar, bending the hapless male over to let the fluid drain out of his nostrils. Hayner moaned, hacked as some salt tried for his wind-pipe, started screeching a moment later, clutching his forehead. _"My fucking face is on fire!"_

"I'm sorry!" Roxas yelled desperately, very firmly no longer drunk, dancing uncertainly from foot to foot, out of retaliation range. "I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, Hay!"

"_Aaaah!" _If Pence hadn't been holding him, the blond would have started rolling around in the shallows, the agony all-consuming. "It stings! Oh, my God, it stings so bad!"

"Let's get him out of the water," Pence called to Roxas. He got a frantic head-shake in reply, let out a growl and commanded, _"Now, _Roxas – he needs our help. He's not going to get you back for this, okay?"

"_I'll fuckin' kill the bastard!" _Hayner, with tiresome timing, corrected.

"You shouldn't have jumped on me!" Roxas wailed.

"_For God's sake!" _Both hesitated, Hayner blinking through his newly-sprung tears of pain, as Pence seemed to swell, double in size. "I am telling you, _right now, _that we are _all _getting Hayner out of the water – or I'll personally drown you _both myself!" _

There was a brief, stunned pause, then Roxas was scrambling over, grabbing Hayner's other arm, and, under the brunet's fierce glare, the two blonds did their best to co-operatively pull their weight. Pence led them quickly back up onto the beach, where the firm sand from the earlier high-tide had yet to dry and crumble. Panting, the three tumbled to the earth, Pence growing wetter by the minute with Hayner hanging all over him. "I feel sick," the tall blond complained.

"You shouldn't have had so much to drink," Pence grumbled, shrugging him off, clearly close to his wit's end with the pair.

"It's not the bourbon, it's the _sea _water," Hayner declared heatedly, eyes slightly unfocused. "Isn't – isn't it – isn't sea water poisonous?"

"I'm sorry," Roxas said, softly, drawing the gazes of both boys, frowning at the expression on his face. Hayner leaned over Pence, looking hard into the blond's face.

"It's fine," he said after a beat. "Don't worry about it."

The three boys lapsed into silence, Hayner holding his face gingerly, expression scrunched against the pain, the gentle noise of the waves shushing and sweeping. Roxas took a breath, released a slow, quiet sigh, all the artificial energy he'd thought he had finally draining out all the way, not even real in the first place. Illusions of strength.

The hush was comfortable between them, as it almost always was, though Hayner more because he was concentrating on willing the burning from his sinuses. Roxas closed his eyes, listening to the ocean, drawing his knees up, resting his head against his knees. As Pence stared up at the stars, a slowly sobering Hayner glanced his way, eyeing the blond's exhausted posture. "So, where'd you develop a right-hook like that, anyway?" His voice sounded muffled, nose blocked. Roxas shrugged slightly. Hayner lifted an elbow, dug it into his back and rested there, ignoring the uncomfortable squirm beneath as Roxas tried to dislodge it from the muscle. Pence took a breath, sleepily asked, "Do you guys think we'll always be like this?"

Roxas lifted his head, Hayner's attention going over to the brunet. "Like what? Pissed on the beach with Olette swapping saliva with our childhood-worst-enemy not a couple hundred feet away? Well, sure. It's why I'm contemplating suicide."

Roxas wasn't listening, a frown in place as he gazed out at the sea. His eyes strained, narrowed, the boy shrugged Hayner off. "Do you guys… do you see that?" They glanced at him, followed the direction of his squinting, struggling to see what he was indicating. A long moment passed. "There's someone out there," Roxas said softly. "Standing in the water." Pence tilted his head to one side.

"Really? I don't – oh, is that – ? Oh, no, it's a rock."

"Next to the rock." Roxas didn't waver.

Hayner stared hard, eyes held open, unblinking. "I don't see them." He scowled. "It isn't _Seifer, _is it? Or one of his goons?"

Roxas' head shook gently from side to side, something tingling in his chest. "No – he looks… different. Different to them."

Pence laughed. "Maybe it's a mermaid?"

Roxas shook his head again, more firmly. "It was a guy. There's someone out there. Some… some guy." He looked sideways, found them watching him sceptically. "There _is,"_ he insisted, eyebrows shooting up. Frowning, he turned back, said, "Can't you guys use your eyes, for – "

Water lapped the large rock jutting out of the ocean, the slight sliver of moonlight barely illuminating it as more than a deeper darkness against the obscure blue. The wind continued to breathe, freezing against the water clinging to his clothes, and Roxas wondered if it had blown the boy away. He was gone – that dim shadow, up to his thighs with his head thrust back, scrutinising the heavens… the boy was gone.

"I – I saw him," Roxas murmured. He rubbed an eye sharply. "I did." He looked at the others. "He was right there."

Pence and Hayner weren't buying it. The concern had returned to Hayner's expression, coupled with that old wariness. "Maybe… you should get some sleep," he advised, voice low, noncommittal, before Pence could find a way to make light of it, laugh at Roxas for his mistake, when the blond was so clearly taking this seriously. Roxas blinked several times, rubbed his eye again, rubbed his chest. "I'm not tired," he lied. "I mean…" He looked back out to the ocean, as Hayner shifted beside him, staggered to his feet. Pence was swift to follow, quietly bewildered, curious. He still didn't know about the night's activities, not in full, but suspicion was rising. Roxas stayed in place, searching the spot he had last seen the person. "He was right _there." _

Hayner sighed, shook his head, bent down and hauled Roxas to his feet as if _he _were the one who'd had the most to drink, like he was some hopeless drunk unable to perform the most basic of functions. Resentfully, the blond tugged free, absently rubbing his knuckles, sore from where they'd slammed into what was now a blooming bruise on Hayner's face. As he noticed it, though, whatever anger that had started sparking flickered, fizzled and died, hands dropping to his sides. He reached out hesitantly, Hayner flinching away from his touch, the flesh stinging. Roxas pursued, gripped his chin tightly, turning his face forcefully to the side, slowly, Hayner letting out a muffled noise of protest. Pence watched cautiously, not sure what to expect. Hayner's eyes glared, though they did so to the side, unable to twist back, though he tried. "Mind – lettin' me go?" he asked, lips slightly crushed by the hold.

Roxas blinked, surprised, released him. "Sorry. I just wanted to…" He took a breath. "Maybe I _should_ go sleep."

Hayner nodded slowly, rubbing his jaw, working it slightly, trying to rid it of the small, numb points where it had been clutched. "Just like I said." Roxas twisted his head, gazing out, almost longingly. Hayner wrapped a hand around his upper arm, jerked him back around, facing the trees instead, finding a strong and sudden dislike in the expression on the other blond's face. "You can take the bed, I'll tell Olette when we get back."

Roxas' eyes darted along the lumpy, dark line of vegetation, swallowed and nodded, lowered his head as the three of them got walking, Pence soon pushing between them, trusting neither blond to carry himself all the way back to the beach-house. Roxas went quietly, deciding he'd caused enough trouble for one twenty-four-hour block of time… and busy hoping that whatever killer might be hiding in the trees would continue to merely watch, and not act on the cold impulse to kill that the blond knew, knew without a doubt, was hovering.

They made it up to the path, disappearing from the wide-open space of the shore, and Roxas' heart ceased to beat quite so frighteningly hard.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **_(thadump-bump) _Yep, that's me dying. Big, long chapter, and a dawning realisation of why I keep my limit at ten or eleven pages – my stamina sucks. For every page past the eleventh, it took me twice the effort, twice the amount of time, which is ridiculous, since the events for this were so clear in my mind until I actually had to _write _them. Sucky… bizarre form of… reverse psychology. Shut up. It works in my head. Anyway, longer because I didn't want to leave anything for next time. That would have been way too bland an ending to the current updates. Next on the agenda: MaH! God help me D:

CHAPTER FIVE

Roxas woke with one of the first piercingly golden beams of sun, slipping through the cracks in the blinds covering the window they had toppled through only hours ago. Like a laser, the light zeroed in on him, found a direct route through one retina to his brain, lanced deep. The blond squeezed his eyes shut, but the world turned red, the brightness no less painful. Whispering a groan, he twisted, unhooking his legs from their awkward position over the arm of the too-short sofa, curling them in under himself as he turned his back on the hot sun. He'd been promised the bed, but… when they'd got back, that room had been already occupied, the black look on Hayner's face, coupled with the sudden waxiness of his skin, more than enough explanation of what he'd maybe seen when he'd gone to check. Roxas had taken the sofa without a word, Hayner and Pence cramming together on the loveseat, while Fuu and Rai spent the majority of the night sitting out on the porch with a bottle of wine being passed back and forth.

It had been a disturbed sleep, uncomfortable, cramped, headachy. His mouth was permanently dry, his feet just about forming tracks between the couch and the bathroom as his body fought to dispel the poisons he'd forced upon it. He'd reached the point of wanting to smash his head open, catching sight of the dark bruise on Hayner every time he re-entered the candle-lit room, the wicks long-lasting enough to keep him feeling guilty and faintly stricken all night long. Then he'd slept, and hadn't opened his eyes again until the sun came pulsing through, just about forming a hissing stream of smoke where it burnt into his skull.

He couldn't get back to sleep. A knitting needle had worked its way through one temple, piercing through to the other side, leaving a wreckage in its wake that Roxas now had to deal with. It was impossible, with the stinging hangover centralised in his left eye, to let go of consciousness again, no matter how hard he tried. For half an hour he persisted, eyebrows furrowing deeper and deeper against the pain. At last, the realisation that this being futile filtering through, Roxas' blue eyes slid open, staring at the visible fibres of the couch-material. He was hunched up, hands cupping elbows, a heavy heat already settling through the little house, sweat forming in all the creases of his body.

Needing the bathroom again, he squirmed onto his back, swung his feet to the ground, paused for a minute to clasp his head and quietly endure. His eyes squeezed shut, a silent curse directed sluggishly across to where Hayner continued to be passed-out on the arm of the loveseat. He stood, shoes shuffling across the bare floor, trying to be quiet, to not disturb any of the slumbering beasts. He avoided looking into the dusty mirror while he was in there, certain that he already knew precisely what kind of blood-shot wreck he looked like, really not needing visual confirmation – not when he had work in so few hours. Trust Aerith to be open on a Sunday.

Gathering a handful of water, he lowered his head, rubbed it messily over his tired eyes and cheeks, trying to soothe away the aching, the itchiness. Breathing heavily, he returned to the main room, felt the sweetest kiss of a sea-breeze pushing at the blinds. Standing for a moment with his hands on his hips, Roxas gazed slowly around, settling for a moment on the unconscious forms of Pence and Hayner, twisted uncomfortably against one another, and smiled slightly. Over on the bookcase, he found, of all things, an old Spiderman comic. Drawing it out, flipping it open, he discovered it to be a couple decades overdue from the local library. He didn't like to think what the fees would be by now. Turning the pages disinterestedly, distantly amused by the _'pow!'_s and _'shazam!'_s gracing every few panels in the form of sound effect, he settled down onto his sofa, sinking low, hunching over. It entertained him for roughly fifteen minutes, the first time through. He flicked back to the beginning, glancing over at his friends, sighing, started reading again. It was another ten minutes before a croaking voice rasped, "Trying something a bit more difficult today?"

Roxas smirked, raised his eyes, the left one still narrowed slightly against the pain. Lifting the comic to better show the cover, he told Hayner, "I'm expanding myself."

"That's my boy," the taller blond muttered, clumsily rubbing at his eyes. "Always improving." He inhaled, yawned, lifted his hands behind his head and squinted down at Pence, who, through the murmuring and shifting, had slid down a little, but remained asleep. Hayner went to scratch his face, flinched. "What's up with my face?" He touched the bruise gingerly, Roxas' stomach dropping a little, the sour, sick feeling rising.

"I…"

"Oh, wait, I remember." He jabbed a finger over at him. "Abusive prick. That's the last time I leap all over _you _when I'm piss-ass drunk."

Despite the fact that the blond obviously held no animosity over the act, Roxas was quiet. "…I'm sorry, Hayner. I just – I don't know what I was… I didn't want to hurt you."

Hayner regarded him carefully, a hand coming up to block the light so he could look with both reddened eyes. "Roxas. Forget it. I'll kick your ass when you least expect it, and we'll be even, okay?"

A frown creased Roxas' features, an almost-puzzlement falling across his features. "Why are you so… _nice_ about this sort of thing? I mean…"

Hayner snorted, rolled his eyes. "Dude, you're my friend. Okay? If it was _Seifer, _you know, it'd be _on, _but – jeeze, do you really need to ask? And may I remind you," he added, bouncing the finger thoughtfully, "that if it hadn't been for Pence stopping me, I'd have torn you a new one, you know?"

"Ya know?" Roxas mimicked, a small grin in place.

Hayner glared. _"Now, _you're asking for it."

Pence stirred, wiped his mouth on Hayner's shirt, earning a disgusted, _"Nice," _from the blond. The brunet sat up, yawning widely, an automatic smile in place.

"Hey, guys," he greeted sleepily. "How're you feeling today?"

"The _classy_ thing to do would be not ask," Hayner grumbled, elbowing the boy off of him. Roxas nodded agreement, wincing when even this small motion set off the sensors in his head to trigger a spike or two. He rolled up the Spiderman comic, tapped his knee a few times, while Pence got up, looking far too healthy for his own good, and went to the window. "Hey – hey, Pence, don't open the – " Roxas broke off, hissing as the brunet wrenched the blinds high, exposing the full brunt of the light. Pence laughed.

"What did you do, turn into vampires overnight?"

"I vote we spike his next lemonade with absinthe," Hayner growled, flopping back and covering his face with his arms.

"He'd hallucinate about the perfect shoot and jump off a cliff," Roxas mumbled, from behind the heroic protection of Spiderman, sunshine bouncing off its old, glossy pages.

"And that would be bad, _how?" _

"So, who's hungry?" the brunet asked, completely ignoring the dire threat. "We'll head to the convenience store and pick something up."

"Muh," Roxas protested.

"I am," Hayner reported, thrusting an arm high. "I even remembered to bring my money this time."

Pence pondered, looking out the window. "I wonder if the others will want anything – Rai, and Fuu?"

Hayner grunted. "Ask them, then. But we're not going to run around after them – if they want something, they're coming along."

Pence hesitated, eyes flicking at the hallway. "…And Olette and Seifer?"

There was a brief pause, Roxas wondering if Hayner was suddenly remembering whatever it was he'd found the previous night. He squirmed at the thought. Seemed like he'd come in at the tail-end of the happy days, entering with the trio into an End of Days for their tight-knit group. He couldn't imagine things going anywhere but downhill, if Hayner had walked in on what he assumed he had.

"…If they're awake," Hayner said shortly. "Roxas, go check on them. Feel free to knock loudly."

Roxas started to whine, but a warning glance from Pence, expression serious, and a sharp look from Hayner, convinced him otherwise. Dragging his head along, as if were something bouncing on a leash behind him rather than a lump of molten magma seated on his neck, the blond clawed his way straight, stood, the sunshine painful, but the fresh air vaguely revitalising. He stumped out of the room, down the hall, was reluctant to just start bashing on the door, despite Hayner's go-ahead. He tapped softly at first, enough to gain the attention of anyone conscious within. When no reaction came, he steeled himself, twisted the handle and inched the door open, peering in.

Olette and Seifer were still deeply asleep, entangled, but the brunette was fully clothed, Seifer only missing his shirt. It was a goddamn relief. He opened the door enough to slip in, tip-toed over to the bed, getting ready to grab Olette's big toe and waken her, when a quiet voice said, "We'll be up soon." Roxas froze, eyes shifting across to meet Seifer's now half-lidded ones. He was obviously having some head-troubles of his own, judging by the faintly pained expression in place. Olette slept peacefully on. "What do you want?"

"…Hayner and Pence are talking about food. There's a convenience store nearby or something."

Seifer closed his eyes, pressed the heel of one palm against the bridge of his nose briefly. "Okay. Okay, give us a few minutes." Roxas nodded, retreated, closed the door softly and returned to where Pence and Hayner waited, only to find the room empty. Eyebrows rising, he hunted through the little house, finding them at last on the front porch – or, back porch, perhaps, considering that the main entrance was through the lane. From the miniature kitchen, a door led out onto a little wooden veranda, some old chairs set up, a swinging bench that looked like a few too many pounds would crunch it entirely from its frame. Despite this, Pence and Hayner braved it, looking unworried enough that Roxas supposed it was stronger than it looked. The blond was cross-legged, deliberately not looking at Roxas as he joined them, Fuu and Rai sitting on two garden chairs, tired-looking. From here, there was a direct view of the ocean, over a couple dunes. The smell was stronger than ever, with the scent of hot sand rising to add to it. Gulls cawed and wheeled a little way out, searching for rotting debris in the new tide.

Roxas leaned against the side of the house, gazing out. "They'll be up in a minute," he said.

"Whatever," Hayner grunted.

"Seifer probably needs a while to figure out how to poke his arms through the right holes. Lucky his pants were still on," Roxas mused mildly, "otherwise you'd probably be waiting another half-hour for him to sort himself out. Those belt-loops can be tricky when you're a meat-head."

Rai shot a sharp look over his shoulder, obviously wondering whether or not to take up the bait. But it hadn't been said for his benefit in the first place, and Seifer wasn't around to hear – to be honest, the mood of all four of them lifted slightly. Hayner's expression softened slightly, a calculating glance sent Roxas' way. He nodded slightly, in acknowledgement, and directed his eyes over to the dunes. A peaceable sort of silence fell through them, the cease-fire more than manageable without Seifer around to direct his cronies' sneering. Roxas was almost finding himself liking Fuu and Rai, when they weren't talking or looking at him like this, the wine bottle empty, set carefully against the leg of Fuu's chair.

It wasn't long before the soothing, all-encompassing shushing of the beach soundtrack was replaced by shuffles and thumps from within, Olette appearing a moment later with her braid a mess, skin pale with the after-effects of drink. Her clothes were rumpled, but as long as her shirt wasn't inside out or sporting any new stains, her boys were happy enough. Seifer came staggering in her wake, falling against the wooden rail like a man clutching a life-raft, alternately squinting against the harsh glare of the outdoors, and finding relief in the cleanliness of it all. He rested his brow against the rail, turned his face to them all, asked, "So, what was that about food?"

"Well, good morning to you, too," Hayner said dryly. He drew a cigarette from his pocket, slightly bent, straightened it out and lit up, eyes narrowed through the smoke, studying the distance. Seifer snorted slightly, evidently too tired to launch immediately back into the ongoing existence-based feud the two had had going on their entire lives, and for a while silence resumed, broken only by the waking world.

At last, Olette sighed, checking her wristwatch. "I don't know about you guys, but I need to be at work in – an hour and a half?" She dragged a hand through her hair, shrugged in response to Pence's raised eyebrows. "I tried getting today off, but with my manager on maternity leave, things aren't running as tightly. People are taking a lot of sick days."

"So why don't you?" Seifer asked, resting against one of the patio's support beams, half-hugging it as sunlight crept up against the house. "Just tell them to shove it, you're not coming in today."

She half-smiled, shook her head. "I can't. They're relying on me." She huffed a sigh, checked her watch. "Maybe I can get my mom to pick me up…"

Seifer yawned widely, pushing away. "Well, whatever happens with you, I still need food." Rai and Fuu took this as their cue to stand, ready to leave whenever Seifer was.

Rolling his eyes, sucking the butt of the cigarette, Hayner unfolded his feet from under him, said, "Coming, guys?" Pence stood, but Roxas remained where he was, the swing thumping slightly against the side of the house. Hayner fixed him with a look. "Roxas?" His voice held a thin edge, a warning. Roxas sent him a withering glance.

"I don't feel like walking. My head hurts way too much, Hay. Sorry, but I can't make this one." Olette frowned, a hand going to her hip. She stepped forward, placed the other against his forehead, hummed disapprovingly.

"Didn't I tell you to leave that stuff alone last night?" She darted a look to Hayner and Pence. "Pick him something up, okay? Get him one of those sports drinks, I'll bet he hasn't drunk anything but sake and bourbon since Twilight Town." Hayner subsided, realising that this wasn't so much abandonment in his time of need as the mother of all hangovers, of which he was partially responsible. He nodded, pacified.

"Will do. Not coming?"

She shook her head, took a seat beside Roxas on the swing, said, "I want to try calling home," as she pulled out her cell phone, wiggled it back and forth at him.

"You want something?" Seifer asked, stretching as he started to walk away, heading along the patio towards the short drop at the end, the sand below. Olette shook her head, already frowning at the face of the phone as she quickly thumbed in the number.

"Just make sure Roxas gets taken care of," she murmured. "I can get something at work."

Seifer shrugged, jumped off the end, demanded, as Hayner and Pence remained where they were, "This is the way, right? Can we go now? I'd like to get home and get some proper sleep before it's night-time again, if you boys don't mind."

Hayner scowled, hands digging into pockets. "No, that's not the way. You're taking the long route. It's on the edge of town; quickest way is through the house and down the lane."

Seifer threw up his hands, climbed back up. "What the hell are we doing out here, then, chicken-wuss? Lead the way, already."

Hayner grunted, turned without another word and disappeared into the house, trailing the cloying scent of smoke. Pence followed, eyes lowered, Roxas glaring at Seifer as he passed, his partners in crime close behind and back to full dislikeability, without even having uttered a word. The groups, with Seifer's sweet presence reinstated, were once again firmly separate. He listened to the footsteps pass through the house, distantly heard the door swing shut on the other side, and suddenly, he and Olette were alone. She looked exhausted, the phone held against her ear, the line on the other end obviously on the verge of ringing out. It came as no surprise when she sighed, pulled it away and flipped it shut, checking the time again. "Mustn't be up yet," she said, sounding dejected.

"I'm sure you'll get there on time," Roxas murmured, stretching out a little more now that there was more space, slumping low in the seat, legs stuck out straight. Olette shrugged, then, obviously making an effort, turned to him with a smile.

"So, Roxas, how did you like my grandparents' beach house? I mean, aside from the eventual hangover," she added, nose crinkling. He turned, one eye shut against the sun, hair turning golden, and returned the expression.

"It's a nice place. You're lucky to have had this all these years. Must have been fun when you guys were growing up."

She relaxed slightly, features softening as she remembered. "Yeah, we had some great times here," she said wistfully. "I've always loved this place. It's a nice, sort of, escape."

Roxas nodded, and for a minute or two, a slightly awkward silence fell over the pair. Usually, it was easy to talk to the brunette, always bubbling with something to say, but she was so drained right now, it was like she couldn't quite face it. Roxas was puzzled; he'd seen Olette completely shit-faced drunk before, and she hadn't looked as bad the next day as she did this time, and he was pretty sure he'd outdrunk her. To have her sitting beside him like this, pale and silent, was a new experience. Her lips were thin, shoulders hunched, that line that had formed between her brows the night before yet to smooth out. Her eyes, fixed on the watery horizon, held a depth of trouble he wasn't accustomed to, except for when – she and Hayner were fighting.

Frowning, not used to being the one to find topics of conversation, Roxas asked, "What about you? I mean, this was your first time asking Seifer along, right? How'd you enjoy this little… meshing of worlds?"

She seemed surprised. "Oh! Well – it was… nice? I liked it." Her expression grew wary, slightly mistrustful as she regarded him, tapping the phone against her chin. "Why? Was Hayner wondering?"

Roxas cocked an eyebrow. "Hayner? No. Why would he?"

A slight sound chuffed out of the girl, holding a bitter tinge. "Well said, I guess. Why _would _Hayner care?" Roxas went still, a scowl forming. Olette noticed, started a little, rolled her eyes, mouth pursing. "Oh, don't look like that, Roxas, please."

"…You shouldn't talk about Hayner like that," he muttered, gaze on his knees. "He cares about you."

She fixed him with a hard look. "Not enough, he doesn't."

She broke into a sigh, as Roxas let out a noncommittal, "Tch."

Olette wilted a little, elbows going onto knees, body-language depressed. The hot light from above was eating the patio piece by piece, had grown to encompass their legs, the tips of Olette's nails glinting on the very edge of the yellow. She played with the phone, grimacing. Then she stopped, turned her face to the side and said, "I know how things seem right now, Roxas." Her tone was distant, roping his attention against his will. He flicked a cool glance over, met her earnest green eyes, a measuring cast to them as she regarded him. "And… I have to admit, I feel pretty bad about it," she confessed. "I never thought things would end up like this, but – Hayner, he… I just…" Frustration overtook her features. "Well, you're his best friend now, right? He's told you what happened, hasn't he?"

Roxas held up his hands, stopping her sharply. "Quit talking, right now. I can make my guesses, but no, nothing's been said. Hayner hasn't, Pence hasn't."

"Well, of course Pence hasn't," the brunette reasoned, looking at him blankly. "He wasn't _there._ I certainly wouldn't say anything, and I can't see Hayner – Look." She frowned, gauging him. "Are you telling me he hasn't said _anything?"_

"Olette, I don't know what you're talking about," the blond replied shortly, "and I really don't want to. Whatever it is, it's yours and Hayner's business, not mine."

She let out a small, confused, "Huh." Shrugging, she said, "All right, then, if that's how it is, fine by me. The less people know, the better. But…" She hesitated, sought his gaze, locked on it with an element of pleading. "Please, Roxas, _please _don't judge me over this. Please believe me when I say… it's _Hayner _who – "

Again, she was cut off, Roxas growing impatient. "Olette, I don't want to hear it. I'm not interested in taking sides."

A spark of anger lit in her eyes. "And here I thought you already had," she said snippily. The conversation abruptly over on both ends, she flipped her phone open, pressed redial, listened to the ringing. Roxas folded his arms, looked the other way, struggling to cool his own ire towards the girl, suddenly wondering if Hayner had been right all along, that they were in danger of actually _losing _her – she certainly didn't seem open to talking about it, unless it included some form of finger-pointing. Roxas, in his bid to keep liking her, refused to hear a word of it. He didn't think he could stand to see her fall in his esteem – he couldn't handle the disappointment of it.

"Still no answer," Olette sighed impatiently beside him, snapping it shut again. She caught her chin glumly, glowering out at the ocean for several moments before inhaling sharply, standing. "I'll just go clean up. The others should be back soon. Once everyone's sorted, we need to go catch the soonest train, otherwise you, me and Hayner are _all _going to end up late for work." Roxas groaned quietly, pushing his fingers up his face as she stepped past him and back into the kitchen, massaging his temples. How the hell was he going to handle a day of work after the last couple of nights? Aerith was going to work him like a dog. He was going to _die, _and she'd be her absolutely unsympathetic self the second she realised it was entirely self-imposed. In fact, she'd probably work him _harder. _

His head jumped up from his hands, eyes wide. Oh, Lord, she was going to put him on deliveries. He knew it as surely as he knew the sun would rise each morning and set each night; she was going to make him suffer for coming to work hung-over. That was just the kind of cruel, cruel woman that Aerith was.

It wasn't long before the others returned, as Olette had predicted. Hayner and Pence came out onto the patio to find Roxas balled up on the swing, miserable. "See?" Hayner threw over to Pence, as the brunet sat in one of the deck-chairs. "I told you he'd realise while we were gone." He bent down, clapped the blond on the shoulder, adding with criminal cheeriness, "You just figured out you're on deliveries today, didn't you? I'd recognise that expression anywhere!"

"Shut. Up," Roxas mumbled from the hiding-place of his arms. Hayner shoved the blond's legs up to make space, sat hard enough to make the seat slam the side of the house, sand shaking from the rafters.

"Thanks for that," Pence complained, brushing off the potato pie he'd got from the store.

"Anytime," Hayner grinned. Roxas peeped at him from under his arm, glaring suspiciously.

"You're way too happy," he grumbled. "What did you do, find a puddle to drown Seifer in on the way back?"

"Naw, I just feel healthier," the blond replied, bouncing the seat slightly to make Roxas groan. "I downed a couple of pixie-sticks on the way back, and I got us both one of those sports drinks Olette said about. Here." He balanced it on Roxas' hip, the blond groping around until he grabbed it, sitting up, looking increasingly unhappy with Hayner's new energy.

"I liked it better when _everyone _was suffering." He opened the brightly-coloured beverage, sipped a little, not liking putting anything in his stomach, even if it would serve to be beneficial in the long-run. "Didn't you get food?" he asked the taller blond.

"He ate it already," Pence informed, pulling the crusts off his pie and consuming them. "This is why he suddenly feels better – there's something in there actually _metabolising _the alcohol."

"Hey, I fed him last night," Roxas protested, before taking another ginger sip.

"Yeah, but he sicked it all up," the brunet conversationally told him. Roxas paused, the bottle to his lips.

"…It wasn't the chicken, was it?"

He was shot a briefly bewildered look. "No, man, it was the bourbon, that shit always makes me reach for my boots, you know that." There was a beat, then, "Why? What was wrong with the chicken?"

"Did you say 'chicken', chicken?" Seifer joined them on the deck, no real interest in the jab, just complying with habit. Hayner flipped him off dismissively, kept drinking, Roxas gratefully taking a gulp of his own. Seifer went over to his previous place against the rail, putting his back to the ocean and relaxing, a loud crunching filling the air as he consumed potato chips from a shiny bag. Fuu and Rai were evidently elsewhere, perhaps cleaning with Olette – no doubt Seifer gave the word, and they jumped to it, perfect lackeys that they were. No one spoke, the blond's presence suppressive, instantly dispelling the natural comfort the three males felt in one another's company.

In silence, Pence and Seifer finished their food, Hayner and Roxas quietly re-hydrating. After what seemed an interminable length of time, the fresh sea air blowing softly along the side of the house, Olette came out, leaned beside Seifer, accepting the chip he offered over. "Well, everything's back to normal," she said, sounding ready for bed again already. "We really need to get going, guys, or we'll get fried."

Roxas sighed, nodded, knowing that the only thing that would make Aerith even _harder _on them would be tardiness. Gathering what little they had brought or bought, the group left the beach-house, tramping back through the short hall, the damp laundry, all windows once again sealed and latched. Olette locked up, returned the key to its hiding place, and with a silent good-bye to the plant, Roxas followed Hayner and Pence back along the lane, the side-road, the seven of them straggling along the crumbling main road and climbing the stairs into the station, the train to Central already sitting on the tracks. They leapt into it, with altogether more energy than Roxas thought he was willing to part with, before it could pull away and strand them for another fifteen precious minutes before the next one happened along.

Roxas, Hayner and Pence sat along one side of the train, facing opposite Olette, Seifer, Rai and Fuu, all eyes averted as they prepared to once more separate, with weary eagerness. By the time they reached Central Station, Hayner and Roxas had twenty minutes before Aerith started cutting their pay, the two of them dragging Olette from Seifer and setting off at a run for the tram, every jolting step sending a splinter through Roxas' skull. The three youths sprinted to the best of their ability, spotting the ambling vehicle in the distance, rumbling and clanking away. Hayner grabbed Roxas, gave him a shove, the least healthy of them, lagging behind. Taking the hint, the blond took a breath, swallowed his discomfort, and peeled ahead, putting his morning runs into practice, ending up being the first to jump aboard. Hayner was next, helped Olette up, dragging her bag and cell phone. Puffing and sweating, hot as hell all of a sudden, the three took seats together, the tram car almost empty due to the hour, the day. Olette spent most of the journey anxiously checking her watch, Hayner picking up on her nervousness and occasionally turning the girl's wrist towards him to see how much longer til Aerith started getting scary.

At their stop, the blonds and brunette parted ways, Olette rushing along and around the corner, up the hill towards The Usual Spot with a quick wave, while Roxas and Hayner power-walked, stiff-legged, to the florist's store. They burst in at five to ten, the bell clanging overhead, to find Aerith hurriedly setting up solo. She darted them sharp glances, an eyebrow rising at their haggard states, the permanent wince of Roxas' expression. "I see," was all she said. "No time for a lecture, boys, get going, we've got five minutes before that sign turns around to 'open', and I've got a heavy order of orchids coming and going for a bridal party."

The blonds lurched into action, wiping sweaty faces, eyes blinking rapidly to clear the slight blur, shifting everything into position, not bothering to take the time to pull on their gloves as they wrestled with rough-surfaced pots, the calluses on their hands growing just that bit thicker. It seemed that only Aerith had the power to milk so much out of a mere five minutes, directing them quickly to allow greater space for both the delivery to fill the room, and, eventually, the bridal party itself. Roxas could already almost hear the swish of taffeta filling the shop, garishly-coloured dresses once thought by the bride to be daring and tasteful sending pins through his already abused brain. Ten o'clock hit, and not a moment later, Aerith flipped the sign, propped the door open in preparation, warm air flooding in.

While the boys went to pull on their gardening gloves, gulping cups of coffee in the break-room before the hard work started, the flowers filled the shop, ordered in express from Traverse Town. Stepping from the back room into the showroom again was like entering some twisted version of Wonderland, in an alternate reality in which the snooty damn flowers had got their hands on some heavy artillery and decided to take over the world. Roxas sneezed. The invoice sat on the counter, Hayner wandering over to take a glance, eyes widening. _"How _many orchids?" He darted Aerith a bewildered look. "Exactly how many bridesmaids _are _there?"

"Enough for us to have a task on our hands," she replied, in the ultimately calm voice she used when at her most frantic. "Hayner, you're with me fixing bouquets, there's a list under the register of the arrangement order for each one, we'll be using samples from the shop as well as the orchids." She fixed Roxas with a look made up of equal-parts pity and exasperation. "As for you, there are too many here for you to help – your allergy's only going to get in the way." Roxas sneezed again, in confirmation, the pollen from the orchids filling the air in a choking mist. Soon, it would be all over their fingers, rubbed into eyes, massaged into necks aching at the angle of the work. The previous spring, just after Roxas had first got the job, he'd nearly crashed the van during deliveries. Orchids, that season, had been all the rage, the back of the vehicle packed with the bastards. After a quick test by Aerith to see if Roxas would no longer be suitable due to what seemed like a violent reaction to any and all spring flowers, it was thankfully determined that the problem lay with the one specific species. And now, the shop was overflowing with the deadly creations.

"That works out nicely, anyway," the woman continued coolly. "I wasn't planning on letting you hang around the shop looking like you're about to fall over at any given time – Hayner told me you were sick yesterday, Roxas. Why on _earth _did you go out drinking? And don't tell me you haven't, you boys reek of it. You," she added to Hayner as an afterthought, "go get a breath-mint from the van before we begin."

Feeling like a naughty boy, like he should start kicking a toe against the ground, mumbling apologies and calling her 'ma'am', Roxas waited for the punishment he knew was coming. "I got a call from the new owner of the thirteen pots," Aerith, sure enough, continued. "He says the plants are wilting, and haven't been quite put into the positions he first instructed. Roxas, you're to go and take care of it."

Hayner exploded, _"What? _We put them right where he fucking wanted them! We worked for fucking _hours!"_

"_Language," _Aerith rebuked, sending him a warning glance. It spread to encompass Roxas a moment later, her expression set. "I don't want to hear a complaint from either of you," she continued, a sharpness to her words. "I don't approve of your professionalism today, or should I say, lack thereof. Part of being a professional, Hayner, is understanding that even _if _you put the pots in their correct positions, even _if _you worked and sweated for hours and made things perfect, if the customer decides they asked for them to be balanced in a gigantic _tower _for their neighbours to see, you nod, you smile, and you get right on it, _with _an apology. Am I understood?" Mutters, some under-breath cursing that the woman chose to ignore. "Now, please, we don't have time for this today," she added, more peaceably. "Roxas, be careful with the van, make sure all the pollen is out of your system before you start driving. And Hayner, for God's sake, the breath-mint, you smell like a home-brewery mixed with ash."

The two boys trooped back through the shop, through the back-room, into the yard and through the gate, to where the van patiently waited. Hayner, having grabbed the keys from the workbench, unlocked the vehicle, clambered inside, hissing and swearing at the burn of the steering wheel as it pressed against his stomach, shirt riding up as he squirmed. He popped open the glove-box, grabbed the box of mints, shot from the car and jumped around, saying, "Ahh, my fucking skin, I've been branded by the goddamn wheel!"

"_Language," _Roxas mimicked with a smirk, taking the box and sliding out one of the green, hard-boiled, sugar-free confections Aerith kept on twenty-four hour standby. Squinting at him, Hayner stopped pawing his stomach, snatched it back, stuck a couple in his mouth, tossed the packet in through the open door, not willing to brave the hellish depths a second time. He clapped Roxas on the shoulder. "Well," he said, the mints clacking against his teeth as he talked, "you have fun, buddy. Sorry about the gardening, but at least it's not deliveries, right? That'd suck."

"There's still time," Roxas wearily predicted, certain he hadn't got off easy just yet. Not when Aerith would have sent him on this errand anyway, just to get him out of the shop. Shrugging, Hayner wandered back into the yard, with a, "Be good," called over his shoulder. The gate was shut, latched, and Roxas was on his own. Sighing, he cautiously stuck his head into the van, reminiscent of a slow-roast oven, touched the steering wheel like it was a burning stove element. Mouth twisting, he tugged off his shirt, Aerith not minding what they looked like in the van so long as they were decent by the time any customers got a good look at them, and draped it over the sizzling leather. Hauling himself up into the vehicle, adjusting the wing and rear-view mirrors from when Hayner had last been driving, he cranked down the windows, pulled the door shut, and wrenched the keys out of the lock, inserting them instead into the ignition.

The van started up, easy as always, and he pulled out of the side lane, headed up through town, past The Usual Spot, no sign of Olette, towards the hills of the grand homes of the nouveau-riche. Hot air swirled in a buffeting storm through the open windows, tossing Roxas' flaxen spikes in messy directions, making his eyes flicker as they dried. Mimicking Hayner's position from the other day, he drove with his elbow on the door, head in hand as he carefully traversed the roads. The pain in his skull had slowed to a steady, aching throb from the knitting-needle effect, but he wasn't sure how long this reprieve would last with hard labour in his immediate future. He wished he'd thought to at least wash his hands and face before coming out, taken the chance to freshen up a little. He felt sticky, salty, skin scaly from last night's foray in the ocean. At least the mint made it so his mouth didn't taste so goddamn foul anymore, a result of the alcohol aftertaste mixed with the bright blue sports drink.

Pulling up the sweeping driveway of the large house, Roxas stopped the van, pulled on the handbrake, peered through the windscreen at the towering place with a sigh. Where would the owner want the plants put this time? If it was anything _too_ drastic, he'd have to call Hayner in for backup, after all…

He was kind of hoping it'd be something drastic.

Groaning quietly, he kicked the door open, lifted himself down to the ground, ran his hands through his hair to tidy it as he sloped up the last rise of the drive, mounted the several clean-swept steps, knocked at the broad door. Hands digging into pockets, he waited, shoulders hunched, rocking back onto his heels every few seconds. Half a minute passed, with no sign of acknowledgement from within. Irritation flickering, Roxas knocked a second time, more insistently, waited some more, found himself still standing by himself on some jackweed's doorstep a half-minute later. His third knock was impatient, a full-fisted pounding at the wood, jaw unconsciously tightening against the annoyance.

No one. Was fucking. Home.

"Oh, for _crying out – " _As Roxas spun on his heel, stomping back down the first of the steps, ready to call Aerith and ask the big 'what next?', a flutter of paper caught his eye. He was distracted by it, hesitated, eyed it uncertainly as it waved invitingly to him in the hot breeze, pinned to the ground by a statuette of angels kissing. He glanced around, one hand still buried in its pocket, shrugged and bent, tugged it out with a little rip of the final corner, straightened and read its sloping-handed cursive. He blinked a couple times, expression slackening.

_Pavestones have been marked. Everything two feet to the left._

He twisted slowly, stared impassively at the door, as if expecting to find the owner peeping through a gap and sniggering. If it had been Roxas himself, he'd totally be doing that, because _this – _was a fucking joke.

"Everything… two feet to the left?" This was something he had to see for himself. Heaving a breath, Roxas took this as his invitation to prowl the property, returned to the van and opened the back, withdrew his gardening gloves and, tugging them on, wandered around the side-entrance to the little courtyard area he and Hayner had slaved in last time they were here. Lo and behold, the pavestones were indeed marked. As Roxas slowly traversed the circumference of the wide circle of pots, two feet to the side of each was a small chalk circle scribbled onto the rough stone. His job was to cover those up with the terracotta pots, and bring a little vitality back to the limp-looking things. The heat wasn't treating them well, away from Aerith's loving hands.

As Roxas stood in the centre of the ring, knuckles loosely placed on hips as he worked up the energy to throw himself into it, he entertained the idea of just rubbing all the little circles out and taking the rest of the morning off… But, no. People this anally-retentive noticed things like that. They noticed things like 'two feet to the left'. And Aerith would notice his ass being flung out the store door to go do it again, with the kind of disappointment only the most dedicated of mothers were generally able to muster.

So, Roxas got to work. The sun beating down, sweat erupting without preamble from every pore his body possessed, the blond, after having trundled the little trolley from the van, steadily, with growing illness, shifted each and every one of those goddamn pots. He crunched them down onto the white circles with vicious satisfaction, imagining each to be a finger of the sadistic owner, wishing he knew what the guy looked like so he could better picture the wails of agony.

It was on his break that he noticed things weren't – exactly normal with this place. The last of the pots had been shifted, his shoulders were aching like the bitches they were, and he had chugged three-quarters of a bottle of hot water from the passenger's side floor of the van. He leaned against the pink-flowered logo plastered to the side of the vehicle, trying to ignore the way the metal burned through his shirt, too exhausted at the current moment to hold himself up all the way under his own steam. The world was silent, utterly, completely. The sort of quiet reserved for libraries and airless summer afternoons, when the early sea-breeze has fallen still, gathering strength for its next volley of breaths. Roxas had his eyes shut, chest finally slowing from its panting state, and that's when he heard the minute, electronic whir. He paused, cracked an eye open, puzzled. He looked around a little, not entirely sure if the sound had existed outside of his own head, when it came again, low and steady. His gaze was drawn to the house itself, a small frown in place, wondering what it was he was even looking for. Motion caught his eye, slight, but noticeable now that he was searching – a camera up in the eaves of the doorstep, peeping out from the overhang. It shifted systematically, making a slow cycle of the driveway and door. Then Roxas noticed its twin, in the opposite corner, mimicking every movement it made, but encompassing the areas it wasn't at that moment looking at. Between the two, the entire front of the house was being perpetually observed, and, quite frankly, it freaked the blond out a little.

Memories of the previous night came spiking back the slightest amount, without the same deep fear, but bringing an edge to his mood which hadn't existed before. He was being videotaped. Somewhere, at someone's leisure, he could be viewed at any given time, operating on the assumption that he was entirely alone. Despite the fact that he was on a stranger's property, it felt like he'd been followed home and found a face pressed against his bedroom window halfway through undressing.

Scowling, he pushed away from the vehicle, leaned over to trickle some water into his sweaty hair, mussing it up, capped the bottle and tossed it back into the van, slamming the door shut. He wasn't interested in procrastinating this any further – he very abruptly wanted nothing more than to be driving away from this place, with no plans of ever returning. He only wished he could find a way to track those tapes down, from both today and the last time they'd been here, and crush them underfoot until it was all just black splinters and ruined ribbon.

Gloves grabbed down from their position on the van's roof, Roxas returning his hands into the perspiration-damp depths of the thick material, he went around to the open sliding door around the other side, hauled out a bag of mulch, a length of hose looped around his neck, the custom-built water-saving nozzle clamped between his teeth. He shambled back around to the yard, slammed the heavy plastic bag to the ground, unfurled the hose and connected it to the faucet it had taken both he and Hayner together ten minutes to hunt down the other day, so out-of-the-way and well-hidden, as if the designers of the house hadn't wanted anything so pedestrian sullying the grandeur.

He got the water running, tested the flow by spraying the pavement a couple times. Hooking the handle of the nozzle into the back of his shirt, where it dragged at his collar, the hose following faithfully like a long tail as Roxas returned to the centre of the yard, tore open the mulch, went to each pot in turn and renewed its supply, packing it quickly, with slightly less efficiency than he normally displayed. Each time he was finished, he'd snatch the hose from his back and give the plant a liberal spraying, until there were, at last, thirteen darkened patches on the pavestones.

It was as he was winding the hose up again, in preparation of fleeing the place, studiously ignoring the three more cameras that whirred and clicked at strategic placements around the yard, that he noticed the first white chalk circle. The blond paused, not necessarily paying attention, flustered and overheated, feeling like if he didn't get some downtime soon, he'd end up passing out somewhere inconvenient.

To begin with, he thought it was just one of the cigarette-burns dotting his increasingly strained vision, as his stomach churned and head burned. He twisted slightly, concentrated his focus, noticed that the mark wasn't moving with his eyes. He stepped closer, heart slowing for a beat, bent over. Hesitantly, Roxas reached out a hand, carefully brushed a finger over the white shape. His skin came away – chalky. His gaze moved to encompass the yard, feet shifting and scraping, hands fumbling with the hose as he continued to wind it up, breathing a little faster than before. "Nu-uh," he said out loud. "No way."

He went into the centre of the ring, all his hard work, and slowly turned, sweat turning sickly as he realised there were thirteen chalk circles to the left of every pot. New and white, unsullied by his footsteps, definitely not crushed beneath terracotta like they were supposed to be. Not even washed away by the trickles of water, though some were beginning to smudge as they were touched by the runoff. It was as if Roxas hadn't shifted the pots an inch.

Blue eyes leapt narrow, the blond whipping around sharply, studying the entrances and exits to the yard. There was no way this wasn't some kind of sick joke, some kid playing a trick. And maybe that would have been easy enough to believe, if Roxas wasn't so certain that, if he went back to the van and whipped out the measuring tape, all the goddamn marks would be almost exactly two feet from the pots' current positions. God knows they had been before, the work of a perfectionist.

His gaze rose slowly to the mechanical eyes against the side of the house. He stabbed a finger at one. "You. You saw me do it. I damn well _did my work."_ He glared at the chalk circles, adjusting the hose over his shoulder, then went to each, and scrubbed them out with the toe of his shoe. Roxas returned to the van, finished packing everything away, and climbed in. The breeze picked back up as he reversed, sweeping in through the open window, cooling the sweat against his skin. The blond spared the house one last resentful, uncertain look, then wrenched the wheel and peeled away.

Aerith's shop was now empty of orchids, the waves of blue replaced with an almost gaping emptiness, the bridal party having come and gone in the few hours that Roxas had been absent. The air was still thick with pollen, but the woman had got several portable fans going, blowing the sweet air towards the open windows, clearing it as much as possible before he got back. She was calmer now, more genuinely so, when Roxas entered the yard, stomped into the back-room, bad-temperedly stripping his gloves and slamming the faucet on, water erupting from the spout. "How was the customer?" she called from the front, the store evidently empty of patrons for the time-being.

"Decidedly absent," the blond bit off, shoving his grimy, sweat-itchy hands under the cold flow, scrubbing away the evidence of his time at the hellish house. There was a hint of chalk under the nail of the finger he'd scraped the ground with, which he dug out with a deep scowl. Hayner wandered back to greet him, mildly exclaimed, "Whoa, you're looking – all hot and bothered." Roxas swung his gaze up, heated from the combination of his brain-splitting headache and the more recent events, giving the other blond momentary pause. Hayner lifted an eyebrow, asked, "What happened to you?"

The boy hesitated, then shook his head roughly, the anger leaving his features, giving way to weary puzzlement. "It really doesn't matter. Nothing happened. Owner was absent, so I just did it and hoped for the best."

"Ah, yes." Aerith appeared at the doorway, one gentle hand on the frame, her nodding making the long braid down her back sway a little. "He did say that he might be called away on business – he said he'd leave instructions if that happened. Was it anything too complicated?"

Roxas sighed. "No, nothing complicated. Just stupid, trivial shit."

"Roxas…"

"Stupid, trivial – bananas." The blond grumbled, as he shut off the water, "Goddamn it, I hate bananas."

Aerith smiled, said, "Take thirty minutes, okay? Make sure to drink plenty, I hear it's a little warm out there today." Hayner rolled his eyes at the understatement, gripped Roxas by the elbow, steered him into the mini break-room partition of the room, sat him down on the tatty couch ingrained with several years' worth of soil and employee perspiration. Leaning against the small table, complete with electric kettle, tea-and-coffee implements, and a water cooler, the taller of the two sent his friend a dry, expectant look, waiting. A silence stretched, during which Roxas sank down into the soft material, tipping his head back with a low exhalation, wishing he could just fall asleep here and now and wake up once night had come. Hayner made an impatient noise, nudged his knee with a toe. "So, what's up? What happened? What 'really doesn't matter'?"

Roxas opened his eyes, grimaced. "Doesn't the fact that I said that make it so that – it really doesn't matter?"

The other blond snorted, waved this away with a dismissive gesture. "Forget that. I want to know why you came in with such a mighty-sized bug up your butt."

Roxas rubbed his cheeks, stretched back the skin of his forehead, massaging one eye with traces of leftover agitation. "No, look, it was nothing. Seriously. I was just – it's no big deal. It's not even a little deal. I did my job, I'm back now, I don't need to think about it anymore."

Hayner was sceptical, a half-smile on his face as he persisted, "What did you do, walk in on someone naked? Were you propositioned by the owner's wife? Did some poodle decide to start humping your leg? That's not your 'nothing' face, Rox."

Roxas sighed shortly. "You know, you're right." He bent forward, took his head in his hands, stretched his shoulders as best as he could, said, "It's my, 'shut the hell up' face. It's my, 'I'm tired and sore and sick' face." He squinted up at the boy, pointed at him. "I went to Olette's beach house for you, so shut your damn mouth and let me be hung-over in peace."

"What, still?" Hayner smirked, leaned forward to clap a hand on Roxas' hot shoulder. "Man, I stopped feeling sick _ages _ago. You really need to catch up, Rox." The blond growled, shrugged him off, rose slightly from the seat to reach across the cramped space and fill a mug with spring water, flumping back down and gulping at it sulkily. Hayner shrugged, found a little rubber ball he'd left next to the sugar their last time here, started bouncing it against the wall for something to do while Roxas glowered and attempted to recover from the last crappy twenty-four hours. After a while, he dozed, lulled by the rhythmic thocking of the ball, until Aerith stuck her head briefly in, and informed him it was time for deliveries. And that was that – he was thrown to the dogs.

Roxas hunched over the steering wheel, golden afternoon light stabbing the windscreen, his eyes and skull, just as violent as dawn. He peered through it, driving slowly as he searched the street names. The back of the van was emptier today, the flowers sliding around with each turn, but the deliveries had spanned a broad section of town, eating up extra time. He really did detest this. He and Hayner each had their reasons: Hayner was easily bored by driving in circles, having to take each corner carefully, always keeping a happy face for the customers. Roxas didn't suffer so much in those areas, being a more naturally cautious driver, and barely bothering with the cheerful act in the first place; He hated the forced interaction. Hated the fact that he had to encounter so many random people, had to talk to them, pretend to be halfway glad to be gifting them with their bouquet, their basket, their teddy bear and chocolates. When they fluttered and flushed and exclaimed, it was all he could do to not remind them that he was just the messenger – no, didn't want to hug. Basically, it all came down to the fact that, as Hayner would say, he was an anti-social shit.

However, for this day at least, his anti-social habits were going to be challenged once, and only once, more. Then he was home free, after Aerith had taken one last look at his pasty face and allowed this to be his last task before going home to sleep. All he had to do was _find _the goddamn place. The delivery was in the industrial section of Twilight Town, and though it was small, it was a warren of one-way roads and side-lanes, all with hideously similar names. The numbers of the buildings often disappeared into the unknown for several miles at a time, emerging only to inform the blond that he'd overshot his target.

At length, it was only through stopping the damn van, jogging into one frantic little business and asking for directions that he found his way at all. With twilight rapidly approaching, far later now than Aerith would have intended him to be working – Hayner was probably five minutes from leaving the shop, walking home – Roxas hauled himself back into the idling vehicle and swung around, taking several back-streets to find the location of what turned out to be a dump of a motel.

Nose wrinkling, he stopped the van right outside, leaned out the window to look up and down the line of doors. Checking his register, he scanned for the room number destined to receive the gift, found it, leaned back for a moment to take a breath. Man, but he was tired. It had been an endless couple of days and nights. He was looking forward to just curling up and becoming one of the dead for a while. Exhaling sharply, he gathered the last of his reserves, pushed open the door and went around to the side, slid open the van. The lone basket-bouquet looked miserable all by itself, colour in amongst soil and steel. Soon enough, it'd have its home.

Roxas lifted it carefully, propped it on his hip as he shut the van, glanced around. There was no one about; it was a quiet area, tucked in behind several larger buildings, opening out onto a one-way street. He didn't think the van would get broken into for the brief time he'd be away – he left it unlocked, looping the basket over his arm, register in one hand. The final touch, he grabbed the store-logo hat Aerith insisted they wear during deliveries – a joint reason to loathe the task all over again – and crushed it over his spikes, adjusting it, feeling it dig into the sides of his ears.

The blond stepped up onto the cement lining the long, squat building, checking the number of the first door he came to. Twelve. He was looking for sixteen – not far to go at all. His sneakers were silent as he walked, eyes flicking to each tarnished-brass number until he came to the correct one. He raised his knuckles, knocked. There was silence from within for a moment, before a voice called, _"Come on in, it's open." _Roxas hesitated, eyebrows rising, then shrugged, tested the handle. It twisted easily in his grasp, and he stepped inside.

The room was gloomy, the darkness momentarily startling, before he realised the curtains were drawn, blocking out what little light was left of the rapidly sinking sun. The furniture itself had a dingy air, but the place was clean enough, just a little old. Whoever was staying here either hadn't been here long, or was leaving again relatively soon, because the bed was covered in bags, clothes, a general scatter of chaos, which would explain the unusual summons, when Roxas was so used to just passing the goods off at the door and high-tailing it back to the van. He felt uneasy, being around someone else's personal belongings, as if he was going to be accused of being where he shouldn't, despite the invitation. He shifted from one foot to the other, realising the person intended for the flowers was in the bathroom, the door ajar. "Um, I've got this delivery here for you, from Aerith's Ancients… It's…" He bent his head, placed the basket on the bed, picked at them a little. "Um, there's some syringa and white tulips, and – "

"I know what they are," the voice came easily, its owner bumping the door open with a foot, emerging at last to accept the basket. "I ordered them." The man was shirtless, black jeans wrinkled, traces of toothpaste around his mouth. Whatever good the act of brushing his teeth had done was immediately cancelled out by the fact that he lit a cigarette and slipped it between his lips. He tilted his head to the side, as Roxas' gaze was drawn, inexorably, to the fiery spikes adorning his skull in a play of hair, so unbelievably bright.

Red hair like _whoa._

"Well, if it isn't the flower boy. Nice hat." The owner of the voice was smirking, a hand on one hip as he studied Roxas just as intently as the blond was suddenly scrutinising him. Green eyes, as vivid as their scarlet counterpart, narrowed slightly.

Tattoos under eyes. Not like a clown.

"You say you ordered them?" Roxas' voice was sceptical, when he found the breath to speak. "You – ordered flowers for yourself?"

A cocky lift of one shoulder, the smirk back in full force. The man crossed the room slowly, coming close to Roxas. The blond stiffened, darted a glance over his shoulder to where the door still stood open, twilight struggling with the darkness inherent in the room, losing rapidly. "What can I say…? I felt like flowers." A crimson brow arched as he tilted his chin down, to maintain eye contact despite the height difference between them. "It doesn't hurt when it's you that delivers them... Roxas."

A shiver bolted through the boy's muscles, a frown creasing his face. There was a pause, a shift in the air, those eyes boring into him.

Then Roxas turned sharply, left the room without a sound, no questions.

"Hey!"

He just walked out.

"_Hey! _Roxas!"

Forgetting that the guy was meant to sign to prove that he'd received his flowers, Roxas threw the register through the open window of the van as he approached, heard it crack against the opposite window, wound up for once.

The red-haired, shirtless, owner of the voice followed, his bare feet slapping the concrete. "Oh, so, what? You're just walking away from me? Christ, you're just _walking away_. Great." As Roxas opened the van door, the man slammed a hand on the hood, the loud bang making him flinch. _"Again." _

Not looking up, the blond pulled himself into the vehicle. Before he could get the keys into the ignition, a long arm stabbed through the open window, grabbed his hand and crushed his fingers around the hard metal edges. He finally, finally, raised his gaze, fearful. "Let me go."

Green eyes glared. Voice low, he demanded, "You really think I'm going to? Roxas, get out of the van. I'll break your damn hand if I have to."

"I don't know you," the boy said sharply. At the edge of his vision, he saw someone come out of one of the motel rooms, arms stretching over head, not yet looking in their direction. He met the man's hard gaze determinedly. "You came to my work yesterday looking for _me, _not the other way around. I've never seen you before in my life. However the hell you found out about me, or where I work, you need to back the fuck _off, _buddy."

The redhead hissed, grip tightening. Roxas gasped as his knuckles ground together, glanced over to where the person had lowered their hands to their hair, starting to look around. Realising he had the edge here, the blond lowered his lips to the pale hand enveloping his own, bared his teeth, and sank them in, jaws crushing. The redhead cried out in pain and surprise, fingers automatically jumping loose. Roxas got his mouth back before his teeth could be knocked out by the force of the instinctive wrench, stabbed the key at the ignition, missing the first time, hitting deep the second and twisting. The van's motor had never sounded so hardcore.

The person by the motel room looked over at the roaring noise, just as the redhead forgot his woes and leapt forward, trying to grab the keys from the car itself. Roxas pulled back, grabbed the clipboard holding the register papers, and smashed the edge into the guy's nose. The cigarette went flying.

"_Son-of-a-fucking-bitch, Roxas!" _

The blond let go of the park-brake, and the van leapt forward, nearly yanking the owner of the voice off his feet, cursing and bleeding from one nostril as he struggled to withdraw his arm before it got dislocated from his goddamn shoulder. _"Roxas!" _he bellowed, staggering, starting to follow as the vehicle swung past the motel, over towards the exit, the one-way street. In one last attempt to get through to the guy, Roxas yelled out the window, as he performed a perfunctory check for oncoming traffic, _"I don't know you! Leave me alone!" _

"Don't – don't know…?" The man was jogging to catch up, called desperately, "Just – let me talk to you for second, okay? Please? _Roxas!" _The van was pulling away. He started to run. "It's _me, Axel!" _Roxas saw his face in the wing-mirror, twisted and torn, frantic. He pressed on the accelerator, left the motel behind, caught sight of the guy in the rear-view, giving chase. The faster the van went, the faster the redhead ran, until he was sprinting, screaming hoarsely for the boy to slow down, to slow down, to _stop! _

The pain on his face became rage, fury, as he realised Roxas wasn't listening. He slowed sharply, mouth open and moving, obviously shouting after him, but the blond heard nothing but the air rushing through the window, throbbing as he shifted up a gear, increased his speed further.

The owner of the voice became a blot in the mirror, then vanished from sight.

Roxas kept up the speed all the way home, never pausing for a moment to ask himself what the hell he was scared of. He was just – scared.

Terrified.

He all but fled up to the apartment, threw himself through the door, into his room and finally, into the closet. He closed the door on himself, hunkered down in the darkness, and didn't come out again until the choking feeling that he was going to start sobbing faded from his throat. Then, he just slept.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Hey, guys, not a lot to say about this one, no hatred or love for it from my end – hope you all enjoy it :)

CHAPTER SIX

Roxas woke up early, eyes revealing themselves slowly, without focus. His bare arms lay over the top of the blankets, cool air caressing his flesh, rippling along the naked surfaces. He swallowed, inhaled, stared sightlessly at the ceiling for… minutes upon minutes. Timelessness breathed him in, held him deep within its lungs, kept him in stasis so that every thought was abstract and distant, holding little meaning, no care for the world.

Nothing mattered.

Not anywhere.

And he didn't think that it ever had, for anyone. He couldn't fathom that there could be a meaning to any of this, not to waking, not to sleeping. Not to tasting, or touching – there was no such thing as scent, nothing that could ever hurt, or feel good, or contact him, physically or mentally. No such thing as emotion. Nothing that could pass itself off as love, or longing. There was no hope, or hopelessness. No anxiety, or cheer. Just empty, blank, hollow grey. Not even a black and white to flank its endlessness. He could scarcely understand why his body continued to function like this – didn't it realise, didn't it know, that it was already dead? His life was already over, it hadn't been real in the first place. He'd be lucky if it turned out he was even just a figment of some sick, twisted, fucked-up imagination in a sightless, soundless world of perversion. He was already ash along the ground. And forgotten… yes, he was already forgotten.

He'd never even drawn a single breath.

And yet…

Smoke tried to tell him that this was – wrong. Smoke that wreathed and swirled, that permeated surfaces soft and hard, planes of existence beyond his mental capabilities. Smoke equalled fire, did it not? Fire led to existence, even if to eradicate it. A person had to exist in order to die. Smoke was its predecessor, the prelude to its own existence. Smoke reeked from pores, from follicles of hair, from between lips and ribboning up to the ceiling in happy post-coital bliss, while Roxas lay in darkness and watched.

Was this a memory? A dream? A taunting form of nightmare?

But it was light now – there was no smoke to swim upward, no orgasm to come down from, no reason to lie lazy and loose and sleepy. The sun had entered the sky, turning the black to the endless grey which, in actual fact, had hues of blue streaking it, turning its omniscience into lies. Smoke continued to linger, though, and he couldn't figure out why.

There was motion beside him, frightening him badly, an arm throwing itself across his chest, slipping beneath the covers to press hot skin to hot skin, a hand against his ribs. His head twisted slowly, eyes widening, brows lifting and knotting together as red, scarlet and crimson came into view, filling his vision and senses, touch, smell, taste even. He could… hear the colour that it was claiming to be. It was trying to tell him that its name was smoke, that it was ephemeral and gasping, that it was ever-shifting.

A new colour attempted to exist, telling him its name was blood, but he was quite sure it was supposed to be trying to be green. He was sure that, if he lowered his tongue to its shining depths, it wouldn't be metallic – it would blink. And yet, it insisted that its name was blood. Roxas chose to not believe, he chose to draw his own conclusion, and when lips claiming to be fear smiled, he found himself smiling back.

_Good morning, _the owner of the voice said, but Roxas couldn't hear properly over the clamouring of his body parts screaming their names. He could only hope that this is what the owner was wishing upon him, hope it wasn't something cursing and foul. He chose to believe what he wanted to believe – that lips were lips, hair was hair, and the owner wanted only good things for him.

He opened his mouth, whispered, "Good morning."

The owner of the voice asked, _What do you want for breakfast?_

Roxas stretched, a luxuriating motion, smiled lazily and shrugged, a muscle twitching inside his eyelid as the owner's teeth begged for mercy. They didn't want to be subjected to anything too hot, too cold. They wailed and pleaded for Roxas to not inflict that upon them. They wept real tears, and then the lips were sealed against his own, the tears leaking into his mouth, salty and born of bitterness. He tried to ignore them, swallow them down and pretend they were sections of ocean that somehow had become displaced. _We are not teeth! We are life! Please, please, don't burn us! Don't freeze us!_

_Please, stop hurting us._

And Roxas said, "I can't."

The owner of the voice looked at him strangely. "Can't what, Rox?" When the blond didn't reply, he leaned over, wrapped two long fingers around the sides of his jaw, brought him close for another sweet kiss. The boy responded willingly, almost tenderly, though there was, as usual, some section of him holding back, the part that would never say, 'I love you'. When wet mouths broke apart, the owner whispered, "I'm going to the store – is there anything you want?"

Blue eyes stared for an interminable length of time, the owner waiting patiently, accustomed to it. Five minutes passed, ten, and still the boy was thinking. The owner sighed softly, stole a kiss from the blond's throat. "I'll get you something nice," he promised.

"Are you sure you want to?"

The owner of the voice blinked, tilted his head quizzically to one side, smiled confidently. "Of course," he said. "I love you."

_Of course. I love you. _Roxas could only hope that these had been the words that the soft, thin lips covering the sobbing teeth had said, and not a prayer that he would just die where he lay. _I love you. _He wondered if he himself felt love, could only tackle it on a mental level since his heart had ceased beating so very long ago. It had turned to smoke in his chest, and now, every time he breathed, he exhaled a little more of its fine ash. He imagined this was why the owner was happy to kiss him like he did – he breathed smoke, too, when there were cigarettes around. He was used to the taste of charred heart, then.

It took a while for the blond to realise that the owner was no longer around. This was what inspired the energy it took to remember that he continued to own limbs, that they weren't going to twist away from his torso and leave him behind. He sat, gathering the sheets against the chill that stalked what was claiming to be his flesh, but with the way everything was lying lately, he wasn't sure whether or not to believe this. He was… wary.

His eyes travelled the room slowly, finding familiarity, landmarks that soothed – books, a chair, clothing piled haphazardly here and there. Not a hotel room, then. Not this time. This time, the owner of the voice had brought him home, had tucked him into the darkness of bed and let his mind rest. He reached up cautiously, pressed a finger against the place where he knew the crack was forming, feeling the hiss of gas escaping. No one else could see it, they couldn't feel it, but he knew it was there. It was his own mind, after all.

When he blinked again, the chair was empty of the mess that had spent several weeks accumulating, was replaced instead with a person, a boy. Said boy had his elbows on his knees, was leaning forward into his hands, watching Roxas steadily. A weary, smiling grimace rested on his mouth, and Roxas found, to his surprise, that no part of the boy was trying to pretend to be anything at all. He just – was. This, then, was a person more solid than what reality was trying to attempt. "Are you ready to go yet?" the boy asked, eyebrows quirking upward, and Roxas found something inanely familiar about that gesture. Who…?

"…He's coming back, though," the blond murmured, voice rasping. He was cold, pulling the blankets higher, up to his chin, tucking himself down into his knees. "He said… he'd get me something nice."

"Then you're not ready?"

Blue eyes drifted up, fixed on the boy's face and, gradually, Roxas began to shake his head, side to side, side to side… "No."

"I can wait," the boy promised. "I'll go, so he doesn't find me when he returns – but, Roxas, you know you can't stay here much longer, don't you?" Intense, angry eyes burnt deep into him, like the smiling-face of cigarette burns the owner of the voice had seared into the small of his back, branding him as his own. The boy was calm, but his eyes – they were fire, lit from rage, born from hatred. Roxas nodded.

"You should go," he softly urged. "He'll think something is strange if you're still here…"

The boy nodded grimly. "I agree. We can't let him know. I'll be seeing you then." He stood from the chair, gazed down at him with those accusing eyes, said, "I'll be watching."

Roxas closed his eyes, waited. He heard the door slam after several minutes, and thought that this was the boy finally leaving – what had he been doing all that long time? – but… no, it was the owner, he was back. He'd brought things for Roxas to eat, broke them into small pieces and fed each bit between his lips, encouraging him to chew with stray kisses pushing them past his teeth.

It had been close, then. If the owner of the voice ever found Roxas with the boy, there was a high chance he would kill them both. Roxas kept his eyes open, as the green eyes slid shut and the man sighed smoke into his lungs.

Sora liked movies. Not just DVD's or prime-time specials, but movie theatre stuff, big screens, surround sound, armrests and cola in bucket-sized cup, popcorn peppering the worn carpet. He liked the way his shoes stuck to the floor, and made a tacky, Velcro sort of noise when he lifted them. He liked sitting right at the front, the _very _front, so close he had a cramp by the end of the closing credits. This was what made it fun – anyone could sit right at the back, encounter it like a blown-up TV screen for their better viewing, but that wasn't _experiencing _it, as far as Sora could tell. How did you know you were there if you lost yourself in what was showing? Better to be uncomfortably aware of your surroundings because your neck was aching, there was nowhere to put your feet up, your fingers were slipping into the cup-holders all the time because you were sunk so far down to see a little better. At least, that way, you could fully appreciate the full ninety minutes of darkness and flickering light. Otherwise, you were better off staying at home – and Sora hated home.

This particular time, he was mostly alone in the theatre. He couldn't figure out why – it was Disney, for Christ's sake. Who didn't like Disney? Especially the eleven o'clock session. Disney at night was like a freaking contradiction in terms, all the more better because of it. Sora sat there with his head just about bent over the back of the seat, a foot wedged in underneath so that he wouldn't lose his balance as he took in the whole screen, refusing to miss a minute of the show. The music kicked all sorts of ass. He loved all that singing and dancing stuff. It was just… the only problem was…

Sora sighed, glanced sideways at the empty seat beside him. The only problem was that someone was missing from this, and he didn't even know who. He felt like there was supposed to be some other presence in on all this, someone or some_thing _sitting beside him. He didn't even think that the addition would necessarily enjoy it all like he did… but he knew that there was just – something not right. Being alone like this – it wasn't _right. _

Sora sat through the whole movie, left feeling a little happy, a little confused. He picked up some candy from the candy bar before leaving – something for the road – and exited the brightly-lit, broad and graceful cinema onto the worn pavement, the wind of the early hours. Sora walked along, hair and clothes whipping every now and then with the rhythmic, gasping gusts, jaw working, spit mixing with sugar and food-dye, tongue turning shades of orange, red and blue. He studied the human traffic as he went, tipping out the balls of confection onto his palm, feeding them one by one between his lips, bright, blue eyes focusing on one person, shifting to the next, taking in features, expressions, impressions. None of them gave him a second glance, except maybe to notice the curious shade his lips were turning from the mixture of dyes.

Pain pulsed one, twice, three times in his chest, in time to the thump of his heart, which sped up exponentially for that period of time. He was… growing used to it, though, didn't falter in his step. The confectionary rattled as one hand jumped to his sternum, slipping under his jacket to press against the briefly numb section of skin. Used to it, but not… unworried. He was pretty sure hearts weren't meant to do that, not on a regular basis. He couldn't quite figure it out.

Continuing a mostly aimless walk, Sora took Traverse Town's various streets and paths, passing groups passing in and out of clubs, walking home from restaurants, parties, plays, trips to pizza places and convenience stores. It didn't bother him to be on his own, except for when things thinned out for too long. Like – around three a.m, when most people were back home but he continued to wander. He knew home-time was approaching, but to take the step to return was almost a painful thought, more disturbing even than the phantom stabs of his heart. He was growing sleepy, but sleep was an enemy. He despised it, loathed it with every ounce of his being. To go back to that apartment, to lie in the cold bed, alone, to close his eyes and just relinquish himself… it hurt.

He detoured, found an all-night pharmacy, wandered its aisles looking at various hygiene products and vitamins, flipping through the magazine rack, all under the watchful eye of the attendant. The boy sighed, put back a two-dollar romance novel, the back of which he'd perused without interest, eyes drifting around to find something more to occupy. He spotted the ice-cream bin, went over and studied the pictures, the prices, chose one and finally purchased something. Of course, now he had to leave again; the security guard at the door was scowling at him.

He returned to square one, albeit with something to gnaw on, at least. His sneakers shuffled the pavement, but as far as he was from the epicentre of the action – specifically, the clubs, which he had promised himself he would _not _enter this time, no matter what – more and more of the city was going to sleep without him.

He was alone again, feeling watched again, hidden eyes dogging his every step. He felt it shudder down his spine, like someone had taken the cold, blue sea-salt bar and run it along each vertebra, leaving an icy, oozing trail in its wake. He couldn't help but twist, glance over his shoulder, knowing that, as ever, no one would be standing there, no one visible among the shadows. This was – paranoia, thick and strong. He knew the word for it, knew its effect, knew he suffered it during these quiet moments, because the feeling – it had been growing stronger. Sometimes, he even felt it when he slept. He would open his eyes, for the briefest of moments, with sunlight spilling across the world, and there it would be, anxious, cold, unrelenting. He didn't even know what he should do to get rid of it, except maybe drink it off, but Sora just couldn't drink that hard or fast. He inevitably ended up groaning on the tiles of the public bathroom, entirely too conscious for his own good.

The best he could do was stick to the crowds, and hope things would turn out okay. How strange, that in the one situation it would be easiest to follow him, watch him entirely undetected, he didn't feel in danger at all. But, on his own, without another soul in sight, it was like there was a subconscious echo of every step, someone catching at his heels…

Sora's eyes rose, his breaths puffing out steamily, gaze passing beyond the current mortal coil and finding the stars. For a moment, he ceased walking, stared at them.

There was… a certain freedom in stars, he felt. They were the pool-balls of the universe, just waiting for him to come along and start playing. And he would drink his beer, and piss off the other patrons like always… and maybe, out there, he wouldn't be watched. He felt his independence was stifled by this – he missed being able to just sit inside himself and watch, rather than feel like it was someone else doing the same, with him as the prime target.

He felt trapped, standing here on the earth, rooted down, weighted with body, with soul, with a heart that kept hurting for reasons unknown. There was… some part of him… that told him this was wrong. This whole hanging around business, surviving from night to night on the fun times to be had…

Wasn't there somewhere else Sora was supposed to be?

Something else to be doing?

Such thoughts, whenever they occurred, were inevitably short-lived. The blue-eyed boy had an inability to cling to anything too deep for very long, and, much like the name 'Riku', this sensation drifted away, was lost. It would be found again, some other night, during some other burst of lonely fear, when his eyes again found the stars and heavens… but for now, it was – home-time.

Roxas woke early, from a blank sleep of nightmares and disruption, eyes opening with a dry snap, the shallow depths of slumber instantly dispelled. He stared at the ceiling, body sprawled awkwardly on the bedclothes, shirt twisted at his armpits. Light was appearing distantly, dawn coming fast, the sun readying itself to rear over Twilight Town in all its blazing, destructive glory. The blond's spiky head turned slowly on the thin corner of the pillow, eyes going to the window, its thin curtains drawn across to block the view. He had slept in his clothes, suddenly not secure enough to take a shower, in case – in case someone broke in while he was naked. He didn't want to be vulnerable like that.

He was sticky with sweat, felt dirty from the previous day's hard work, stank of his efforts, limbs uncomfortably hot in the already-building heat from outside. His nerves buzzed with nervous energy, that which had jolted him out of exhaustion in the first place – it was like a fire had been lit under his skin, tingling and rough. He couldn't continue to just lie there, something was going to spontaneously combust if he tried.

His body was heavy, like rock. He gripped handfuls of the bed, dragged himself up, face brushing the feathering edges of the curtain. He stared at it for a moment, able to see vague outlines through its almost gossamer fabric. Habit would have him throw it aside along the rail, its rings clicking and clacking together, the window thrust open to allow what little cool air there was to breathe in, the stale air of the night to leak out in an old exhale – but today he hesitated. It was – it felt…

He inhaled slowly. What? What was it? _What _did it feel like? He knew why he wasn't showering, that was easy – some red-haired guy knew where he worked, knew his name, had bruised his hand with the crushing grip he'd put on it the previous afternoon; who was to say the guy didn't know Roxas' _home _address? The only reason he'd spent the night here on his own was because of the window bar – the long, white, metal rod he used to hold the glass in the sitting room shut when he was out, as if someone was ever even going to break into a third-floor apartment via the window. He'd held it close through the night, ready to smack the shit out of anything that moved, yet had somehow managed to sleep, as impossible as it seemed. His distress at finding he was being followed had blanked his mind enough to overcome his determination to remain awake, exhaustion and sick fear sending him spiralling into unconsciousness. It was almost, uneasily, like one of his unfeeling episodes_. _Grey was encroaching on the edges of the world, blurring it slightly to his mind's eye, setting the grinding energy in his bones onto an even sharper edge.

In the end, he left the curtain as it was. He wasn't in the mood for fighting irrationality right now – he was jumpy, unhappy, unwilling to disobey whatever instinct was telling him to keep everything shut up, no matter how illogical it seemed. Flipping the window rod from one hand to the other, he lifted his legs, swung them to the side, momentum pulling his torso to follow, jumping lightly onto his toes, digging the pole into the mattress for balance. He carried it with him into the bathroom, set it within easy reach and quickly ran the faucet, gathering handfuls of water and drenching his face, hair and neck, dampening his shirt. He then peeled yesterday's clothes off, eyes flicking ceaselessly over to the doorway of the cramped room, changed into his jogging apparel, knowing there was no way he was getting through this day without some of this tight energy being burnt away first.

Roxas balled up his soiled clothing, tossed it into the laundry basket, returned to the bedroom and hesitated, glancing around uncertainly. He wavered for a moment, then went to the bed, lowered to his knees and pulled a black backpack from underneath, his standard excursion pack for when Pence felt like going to a gallery, Olette to a concert, Hayner to the beach – Roxas himself never had any urges to leave Twilight Town, but he always went along with them, part of the group, black bag filled with supplies ranging from emergency food, gas money, a first-aid kit, and, out of sight, sewn into the depths – a small, slender canister with an aerosol top, the size of a pen-light, with the capacity to limitedly blind and smother: capsicum spray. That, plus a palm-sized bottle of almond oil. Both went into a small pouch, which was then buckled around the thicker muscle of his right thigh, straps pulled tight enough to remain stable through the impact of each step. He straightened, feeling a little breathless, stamped his foot a couple times to test the hold of the buckles, then sat sharply, pulled on his trainers and laced them tightly, tucking the loose ends into the sides of his ankle-socks. Kicking the bag back under the bed as he stood, Roxas grabbed up the window rod, carried it all the way to the front door, left it sitting just behind it, so that… if he entered in a hurry, or – couldn't close the door for some reason – it'd be within easy reach.

The blond was suddenly, dizzyingly relieved to have spent all these months running several mornings a week; to have got a job that kept him fit, accustomed to hard, hot conditions, rather than growing soft and cool within the confines of an office. Despite every time he'd ever complained about it to Aerith, he was, in this moment, glad to have a boss that wouldn't let up when there was a job to be done. It was brief but sharp, making him sag for a moment against the back of the plain, white door, drawing an unsteady breath. He had some kind of stalker now – yes, he was glad to be fit, prepared to run if the occasion arose. The guy – those eyes – he'd been crazy when he'd looked at Roxas.

He'd looked halfway insane, and Roxas had never seen anything like it in his life.

Shivering, lips twitching, the blond straightened, held himself upright, hands splayed against the wood for a moment, before stepping quickly back, opening the door and leaving the apartment before his nerve fled him altogether, trapped him, quivering, indoors for the rest of his days. Maybe he couldn't open the curtain and expose his bedroom to the world yet, maybe he would be toting the window rod for a few weeks to come, but he'd be damned if he was going to let this totally rule his life. It was just one guy, after all – one guy, Roxas could handle. _Had _handled. All he needed was a clipboard, and he was cool. And hell, he'd already one-bettered that with the spray and oil.

Determined, a scowl on his features, confident with the weight at his thigh, Roxas hopped down the stairs as always, opened the side door of the building, emerged fast, ready to sprint, and ran straight into the side of the van, parked at the edge of the road.

His arms were able to snap up in time to avoid the inevitable face-plant it would have been, absorbing the brunt of the impact with a loud thud of flesh against metal, sending him bouncing back. If anyone was stalking him right now, their muffled laughter would be a dead giveaway. The silence was a bleak comfort.

Cheeks burning a little, Roxas threw glances all around the immediate area, glared briefly at the treacherous vehicle, forearms throbbing, and started up a slow jog past it. The keys were upstairs; last delivery-boy of the day always took it home to return the next day, on the off-chance that things wouldn't occur according to fixed hours. Aerith's trust was nice, but right now, the van was a bitch, as far as he was concerned. Talk about adding insult to injury.

He increased his pace steadily, slightly faster today, having started earlier, the sprinklers not clicking on until near the end. He felt the nervousness leaking away with his sweat, thoughts and fears taking the backburner as only his body continued to exist in an active manner. The run was cathartic, almost, stripping him of all extraneous emotion, leaving only that which mattered in this present moment. He crossed that fateful driveway, no red cars in sight, and a sudden memory of the vibrant colour from that startlingly ridiculous daydream the last time nearly made him skip a step and fall over. He was saved by the regularity of rhythm, his body's familiarity with every impact, refusing to falter for something as minor as a mere memory, but his mind was skittering along the pavement, gaining grazes, bruises, blood.

Red – red hair like whoa. Visions he'd spent an entire day clamping down on, until his episode had occurred, pushing all else to the back of his concerns, wiping them clean and still, still only now were they leaking back. He hadn't been given a chance to recall that dream again, through one reason or another, but now –

"Different," he spat from between clenched teeth, turning a broad left onto his street, the van's white smear on the horizon gaining definition the closer he got. Yes – different. The dream, the crazy guy – they were separate, not related, _completely disconnected._

Unless – unless Roxas had caught a glimpse of him from a distance? If the guy had been following him around, it would have been easy enough. If he'd stayed far enough away to have individual features not be memorised, but close enough for that _hair _to worm its way into Roxas' subconscious… The fact that it had been a _sex _dream had nothing to do with it, that was just his frustration rising up, finding an excuse to get excited, and – and – it was just a coincidence. Roxas had never seen the guy in his life. Nothing other than his hair colour, at any rate.

Reaching the apartment, Roxas grabbed out his keys, unlocked the main door and headed inside, upstairs, ragingly thirsty from having forgotten his customary bottle of water. The apartment felt stifled, but undisturbed, the window rod still in place, snatched up almost as soon as he was back. Holding it swung over his shoulder, Roxas went grimly to the kitchen, drank several cups of water one after another, stretching slowly while he waited for his pulse to come down, muscles to cool, switching the white bar from hand to hand as needed, balancing against the edge of the counter.

He stayed there too long, until he was running late. There was a clock on the wall that showed the minutes ticking by, the second-hand relentlessly pushing on, taking the hour closer to its next, when Roxas should have been at work again.

Work. Where the guy knew he would be. Where he had _gone, looking _for Roxas.

For what reason? What did he want? Why had he ordered flowers, and how had he even known Roxas would be the one to deliver them? Had it just been some wild hope or guess? If it had been Hayner at the door, would the exchange have happened just the same as always, basket swapping hands, register filled, with the guy back at square one?

Definitely not a bank official – those guys didn't hide in motels, ordering flowers in order to lure unsuspecting blonds to their bedside… to his knowledge.

He just – he didn't understand what this was all about. Perhaps if he'd stuck around a little longer, pressed for answers… but Roxas hadn't wanted to ask these questions last night. They hadn't occurred to him, not even faintly, not a voice at the back of his mind, nothing – the only instinct, deep and screaming, was to get out, get the _hell out _and not look back.

Of course, every apprehension had been proven when the redhead had then followed him out, threatened to break his hand if he didn't give up his key – there was no doubt about it, the guy was a freak, and however he'd found out about Roxas, whatever he _did _want, it couldn't possibly bode well for him. The man had ways of getting in touch with Roxas, though, of watching him without the blond's knowledge, and this was – so incredibly unnerving. Not frightening, not yet – the invasion of it clawed at his insides, made his breaths shorten, but, damn it, he wasn't some wimp to be stomped into submission.

And yet… he kept hanging around the kitchen, an eye on the clock, watching it get closer and surpass when he should have left, should have returned to the circle of that man's possible observation. He couldn't even call in sick, not with the van here – the amount of trouble he'd be causing with that alone wasn't worth it, and besides… maybe the guy was already there, and maybe, if Hayner came to get the van, he'd be leading him right to where Roxas didn't want.

No, there was no way around it, really. He'd have to go. And – he'd be okay, he would. This weird redhead was just some phase of his life – the stalker phase. He was sure _everyone _got one, at some point in life – right?

Sure. Stalker phase. Why not.

Taking a breath, shaking himself out, grabbing up the rod, he left the kitchen, went into the bedroom and once again went through a rapid outfit change. Grabbing the delivery-boy hat from the nightstand, where he'd tossed it upon realising it was still stuck firmly to his head, he tucked it under one arm and went out to the sitting room, grabbed the keys, replaced the white bar in its easy-to-reach position behind the door and exited the apartment for the last time. He wasn't exactly sure when he'd be back, so kept the capsicum spray, tucked into one deep pocket. If the guy was following him, tried anything aggressive, all Roxas had to do was squirt him in the eyes – he'd already proven to be reasonably easy to overpower, or at least escape from – and hey, presto, he had himself a reason to report the guy to the cops and get a restraining order. Or something. He wasn't totally certain how that sort of thing worked, but at least he had the law on his side.

Keys jingling from one finger, he left the building, unlocked the van and hauled himself into its depths, warm but not yet hot enough to burn. The air, when he slammed the door shut, was oppressive and thick, making him wind down the window to allow some of the baking wind to enter and ventilate. The clipboard still lay on the passenger's seat, its cover sitting skewed over the mess of papers, making the blond curse at its slightly torn state.

Being back in the van brought a sliver of unease back into his bearing, memories sticking hotly to the seat and steering wheel, jolted into life by the several dots of what could only be blood spotting some of the register sheets. He sat a little lower, a deep scowl forming as he gingerly opened the folder, tried to tidy the thin, fragile papers without tearing them. For the most part they were okay, just crumpled. Aerith wouldn't be delighted, but neither would she put a guilt-trip on him. He could just claim a dog had run out onto the road, and the sudden stop had thrown the clipboard against the dash. That would sit okay.

The last sheet, the topmost one, was the one belonging to the syringa and tulips, as yet unsigned. He paused, lips pulling back from teeth with a low hiss. His mind worked briefly, before, coming to a snap-decision, the blond leaned over, punched open the glove-box and grabbed out a black pen. Straightening, he bit off the lid, breathing a shrill whistle through the small hole in its tip as he lined up the ballpoint, paused to gather himself, then quickly scribbled a random signature. He tried to make it look as unlike his own writing as possible, messy like a prescription, then pulled the pen away and inspected his efforts. It'd pass muster. After all, Aerith wasn't looking for a forgery, she barely even glanced at the signatures; as long as one was there, she was a happy florist.

He capped it, threw it back and shut the glove-box again, carefully folding the cover of the clipboard into place, looking at it for a moment with a critical eye. Everything was looking okay. The blood-spots could be similarly explained away, blamed on the fabled sudden-stop, and no one would be any the wiser. Not unless… the guy actually showed up, said something to Aerith about what had happened. He wouldn't, though. Roxas was certain of it – what kind of idiot would just waltz into the shop after something like that? No, if the guy had any Spidey-sense whatsoever, it'd be screaming that he was going to get his face flattened if he showed it around the blond again. That was all there was to it.

Starting up the van with a rumble, Roxas put it into gear, pulled away from the apartment, eyes peeled for any flashes of red as he left the area. So far, everything seemed clear enough. The longer he was on the road, taking the regular twists and turns without drama, the more he relaxed, bit by bit. Air rushed through the vehicle, the sun searing the arm not driving as he propped his elbow against the window's edge. A measure of calm entered him, soothing away the jangled nerves, returning him to something like normal. He felt like he could do this day, and maybe avoid anything upsetting. Yesterday had been one hell of a time, and wasn't going to repeat itself – something like that came once in a blue moon, wrapped in a fit of bad luck. Things were going to be… better this time.

Pulling into the lane, he'd virtually all but pulled the keys from the ignition when a pair of hands slammed sharply against the door, wrenching it open, grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him out with a startled cry. If they hadn't been holding him so tightly, he'd have fallen headfirst to the pavement, but as it was, he found himself shoved up against the side of the white vehicle, before he even had a _chance _to pull the pepper spray, all thought of it fled from his mind, scattered back in a space where he had actually been making conscious decisions instead of being thrown around like a rag-doll.

It all happened faster than the blond could compute, leaving him hanging helplessly in someone else's grip, dazed for a split-second. When he finally started catching up to the situation, blinking and directing his gaze into the pair of eyes set a bare inch away from his own, confusion set in, followed quickly by blazing anger. He brought up his knees, rammed them into Hayner's stomach, and very abruptly, in a thumping of bodies, both boys were lying on the ground, Hayner winded and gasping, Roxas struggling onto his hands and knees. He turned on his friend viciously, snarling, _"What – the hell – was that?" _He leapt over, slammed a fist into the other blond's arm as Hayner quickly twisted out of the way, still gaping like a fish out of water.

Both scrambled to their feet, fury pulsing through Roxas, bewilderment seizing Hayner's features as he gripped his middle, panting hard. At last, he wheezed, _"What the fuck, man?" _

"I could ask the same," Roxas yelled angrily, arms exploding in a violent, agitated flail. "What the hell were you thinking, grabbing me like that? I thought you were some kind of fucking _abductor, _you asshole!"

Hayner stared at him, pulling a face of utter incomprehension. "Who would want to abduct _you? _We're in _Twilight Town, _man – people don't just disappear off the streets. I'm sorry if I scared you!"

Roxas glared for a moment longer, teeth back to clashing together, hands jumped back into tight fists. But slowly, forcibly, he swallowed, let himself fall loose. He took a breath, exhaled sharply, nodded, said, "Okay, fine. I wasn't – scared, you just – " He scowled. "I mean, what the hell _was _the point of that?"

Rubbing his stomach, pressing it tenderly, Hayner started to straighten from his pained, hunched position, most of the uncertainty leaving his face, though a shadow of it remained in the cast of his eyebrows. "You're late, remember? And – Aerith…" He glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the yard, the gate standing open. Roxas frowned, followed his gaze, suffering a spike of worry.

"What? What about Aerith?"

"Well…" Hayner scratched his head. "She's kind of… gone a little nuts." Roxas swung his head around, one eye squinting. The other blond just shrugged helplessly, gestured him forwards. "Don't bother locking up, man, we're going to be working our asses off loading up the van in, like, ten minutes' time. Once she's done shrieking at you."

Dubiously, Roxas asked, "Because I'm late?"

"…Among other things."

The blond felt his chest constrict, heart thumping a little – 'among other things'? What else was there to shriek at him about, other than his lateness? Had the red-haired guy _really _called and complained, demanding compensation for being attacked? Had Roxas – somehow misinterpreted the situation, and – no. No way. So then – maybe – the pots? Had the owner of the house called in a claim that Roxas hadn't done his job? _But he had! He'd fucking done it! _He was still aching from the effort, for Christ's sake! What more did the guy want, arrows drawn from his blood on the fucking paving stones to indicate where the damn things had started off and ended up?

Apprehensively, stomach tight, Roxas entered through the back room, heard Aerith talking rapidly, frantically on the phone in the front. Shooting Hayner a puzzled look at the vastly different tone of voice their boss had taken up from normal, he cautiously entered the front of the store, only to be blinded with white. He had to fight the urge to throw his arms up and shield his eyes; white blazed from every corner of the shop, every shelf, every counter, lilies as far as the eye could see. The sign on the door was flipped over to its 'closed' side, remaining locked despite the fact that business hours were well and truly begun. Blinking, stunned, he shuffled in a couple steps, felt Hayner's hand clap his shoulder encouragingly. "We're a… lily shop, now?" he guessed.

Upon hearing his voice, Aerith whirled, the look in her eyes wild, unsettling, like a predator homing in on prey. She swooped over, shouted into the phone, "Hang on, I'll talk to you in a second!" Ripping it from her ear, pressing it to the front of her pink dress, Aerith's green eyes zeroed in on Roxas' with mesmerising intensity, her hand gripping his upper arm, drawing him further in. "You're late," she snapped. "It doesn't even matter, not now that you're here. We don't have time, we don't have _time!" _She cut him off before he could speak, said, "I was called last night with a request, and I _tried _to get hold of you, but there was just no way, your phone was off the hook or something." She dragged him over to the front counter, said sharply into the phone, "I'll be with you in a moment," crushed it back against her front, said to Roxas, "Start loading up, both of you, straight away. No complaints, _nothing. _We've been commissioned as an emergency second for a wedding, the original florist has fallen through, a mistake was made with the orders, _we are now catering the floral arrangements for an entire wedding, and the wedding starts at four o'clock this afternoon." _

"Oh," Roxas offered, before being shaken by the hand clamped over his arm.

"_Start loading up the van," _she desperately, hoarsely hissed, before spinning away, running with dainty steps over to the counter, pushing through a load of lilies in search of the logbook, drawing the phone away from her chest and snapping, "Alright, I'm back – tell me the directions again?"

Bewildered, Roxas turned to Hayner, who shrugged. "Where exactly _is _the wedding?" he wondered, sparing an incredulous glance over a now furiously-scribbling Aerith, bent over the counter, nose hovering above the logbook. Hayner grimaced.

"Traverse Town, of course. If we're going to have an emergency, why not one that's three hours away?"

Roxas' face fell, eyebrows rising. "Traverse Town? All that way?" His gaze swept over the massive deluge of lilies, _only _lilies, though they varied in species here and there. Well… it would keep him busy, he hopelessly supposed. And at least Traverse was far away from certain redheaded stalker-types… Shaking his head slowly, the blond went into the back room, pulled on his gloves, went to pull open the van's sliding door and prepare the area to be packed with hundreds of blinding-white flowers. Hayner started hauling bags of ice from the deep-freezer in the back room for the long trip, pouring thousands of cubes, tumbling and crashing, into crates to line the vehicle's interior. "Man," he complained in a mutter, as Roxas went past with the first load, "I hate weddings."

With Aerith audibly running around in a frenzy in the front room, bellowing for the first time in existence, as far as Roxas knew, and with two incredibly long drives ahead of them – there and back – with nothing better than the fear of a stalker to return to, the blond couldn't help but silently, wholeheartedly agree.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Hey, everyone. Apologies for the delay, but I have been, and am, sick as all bloody hell. The only reason it's posting now is because I was slightly improved today, and that gave way to a flurry of writing that I hadn't been capable of for about three days previously. Boo, the flu, I say. Dang it all to heck. This is also why I've been a neglectful cow with responses the last few days with various stories. Gimme forgiveness, coz you're on my to-do list (all sexual innuendo aside), and it'll all get done when I no longer feel like death. Also, forgive mistakes you find as a result – I found a 'there' spelled as 'their' in the edit, and promptly head-desk'd (which, let's face it, I _really _can't afford).

CHAPTER SEVEN

With a flurry of final checks, forty minutes later found them ready to leave. Aerith had calmed somewhat, though tension continued to ripple the air around her. Armed with detailed directions to the site of both the church where the wedding was taking place, and then the nearby park where a marquee would be waiting for the reception, she hurried to lock up the store. They had a busy day ahead of them, which would stretch well into the night by the time they got home again – but this sort of work was the sort Roxas could more than manage; straightforward, unobserved, repetitive. Not to mention the fact that this time he actually had help.

As the last load of lilies was deposited into the back, Roxas straightened, beads of sweat trickling despite the chill within the van. A shadow fell across the doorway, both he and Hayner, who was bent down and muttering, pawing through one of the buckets of ice in search of his watch, victim to its faulty clasp, glancing up. Aerith, slender and elegant, somehow managed to almost entirely block the sunlight, filling the space with a hand pressed on either side of the metal. "You two are staying back here," she informed them grimly. Hayner arched an eyebrow, lips pursing, one incredibly numb hand withdrawing with a rattle of ice as he shot a look over at Roxas. "Ten bucks says she's planning on stashing our cold, dead bodies back here."

The blond dug a hand into one pocket, pulled out his wallet and ripped it open, slipping out first one ten-dollar note and then another, slapping them into his friend's hand. "I'll see that bet," he announced, "and raise it by guessing her ultimate plan is to mulch us up for plant food."

Hayner pointed a finger sharply in agreement. "That's good," he said emphatically. "I like it. If we don't die, you get your money back." He tucked the bills away.

Impatiently, Aerith rolled her eyes, asked, "Are my resident comediennes done, now?" She sent them pointed looks, a powerfully no-nonsense expression in place. "I'll drive us to Traverse Town, and if I have difficulty finding the venue, Hayner, you'll be coming up front to help out. But other than that, I want the pair of you working hard to arrange these," she swept a hand at the mess of flowers crammed into the space, "into bouquets, lapel decorations, and corsages – ten apiece of the last two." She frowned in thought. "Make the bouquet stems custom-length to suit both being carried and put into vases, but don't put them _in _their vases yet – wait until we're setting them up at the venue." Nodding, stepping back, not waiting to see whether this was acceptable or not – after all, they _were _the labour monkeys – the woman took hold of the handle of the sliding door and, with the swift noise of metal along metal, slammed it shut, sealing the boys within. Hayner strapped his watch back on, the pair shooting each other amused glances. "I'm so on the winning side of this bet," Hayner muttered.

There was a bang as Aerith climbed into the driver's seat and shut the door, her voice floating back: _"Both of you sit down! Make sure you're not visible through the back window, I don't want to be pulled over."_

Hayner called back, "Yes, ma'am," and the two of them lowered to the floor of the rapidly cooling vehicle, wedged between the collection of crates and buckets. The van started up, sending vibrations shooting up through their spines, Roxas shivering sharply at the sensation. Aerith got going immediately, both blonds letting out slight murmurs as they swayed hard to the side, hands reaching out to grasp at anything solid, steadying.

As he adjusted, Roxas started pulling his arms back in, turning his attention to the vast collection of flowers, when suddenly, Hayner grabbed his hand. Stopping, stiffening with the realisation of precisely which hand it was, Roxas attempted to distract his friend, joking, "What's this, Hay? Proposing already?"

Hayner held his bruised fingers up, the shadows deep around the knuckles. Brows drawing together, the rangy blond asked, "What the hell is this from?"

Roxas reclaimed his hand, tugging it from the other's grasp, self-consciously running his fingers over the more tender sections of flesh from where the redhead had squeezed so painfully hard the previous evening. Absently, the blond wondered if this was what the guy's nose felt like. "I just…" Roxas hesitated, unsure of whether or not to reveal the details. With a three-hour trip ahead of them, the two of them shut in together like this with no escape, he didn't think he wanted to endure Hayner's reaction and the subsequent rapid-fire questioning that would occur. The taller blond wasn't exactly known for his passive placidity in a crisis.

"I overused it," he heard himself mumble, eyes drifting to the left. "Yesterday, at that mansion. I pulled one of the pots over too hard on the trolley, and when I caught it, I messed up my hand." He shook it out, spread his fingers and thumb wide for better inspection, frowning slightly. "It doesn't even really hurt," he honestly said. "Not so that I notice it, or anything. I just bruised it up a little." Hayner sent him a strange look, head shaking from side to side.

"You've always been weird like that." He grabbed the outstretched hand, squeezed it a little as a test, noting Roxas' complete lack of reaction, except for slight irritation at the fact that they were now officially holding hands. He tugged free, not happy at seeing his hand encased like that, like it had been last night. It didn't matter that it was Hayner doing it… in fact, that almost made it creepier. "We need to get started on these corsages and shit," he grunted, satisfied that the other blond wasn't suspicious of anything. He'd tell Hayner, he would – just… not until he could find a way to block out the ranting and raving that would ensue. "And… and you need to tell me, seeing as how we have the next three hours of only each other's company – what the hell is up with you and Olette?"

Triumph. Hayner's gaze cut away, disgruntlement rising sharply, all thought of Roxas' hand fading away. "What's _that _supposed to mean? Since when is there anything 'up' with me and Olette?" Both boys reached for lilies, scissors, bundles of ivory ribbon. Their breaths puffed out, the interior of the van getting colder, a wild extreme to the outside temperature. Roxas rolled his eyes.

"Since Seifer became more than the asshole-next-door, that's when. It's been, what – three months now?"

Hayner snorted, sent him a dry look. "Dude, up until Pence _told _you about it the other day, you had no clue _anything _was going on out of the ordinary. So now you're some kind of expert on the matter?" He scowled down at the long stems he was carefully cutting, the sound of the scissors short and clipped. "I don't like Seifer. Olette does. That's where it starts and finishes; she gets pissed off at me for saying stuff about him, and I get pissed off because Seifer's saying the exact same sort of shit about _me – us – _and she just fucking simpers or whatever." He snipped particularly ferociously, shortening suddenly what would have been a vase bouquet into a handheld. "It's a little bit double-standard-y, don't you think?"

Roxas was quiet for a minute, registering all this, shaping his own bundle of lilies, grabbing some ribbon and beginning to wrap it around his fingers. "From what Olette said," he cautiously continued at last, "there's more to it than that." Hayner froze, every muscle going stiff. Roxas, curiously, paused and looked up, brow furrowing, lips parting at the position he found his friend in. "…Hayner?"

Through immobile lips, the blond asked, "What'd she say to you?" Roxas' eyes narrowed.

"So there _is _something!" A slow, hesitant smirk twitched the corners of his mouth. "What happened, Hayner? You can tell me, I'm your friend… your _best _friend, just about…"

Hayner's gaze thinned as he studied the blond. "So she didn't tell you anything much, then? I mean – you either know, or you don't know. There can't be any hints – either she told you, or she didn't." Roxas' expression fell a little.

"She didn't tell me much – but that's because I wouldn't let her, Hayner. I figured, you know…" He shrugged a little, focused on his work. "If you wanted me to know, I'd know already. Since I don't…" He trailed off, shrugged again. Hayner grunted.

"If you're so damn great that you wouldn't _let _her tell you, then why the hell are you bugging me now? I still haven't said anything – you should've kept your mouth shut about it."

A little stung, Roxas replied, "Okay, fine. I just figured we could talk about it, what with how long we've got. But if you're going to be a bitch, I'll just keep my mouth shut and keeping building bouquets."

Hayner glared for a little while, while the shorter of the two scowled down at his work, fingers nimbly weaving white ribbon through green stems. "Look," Hayner muttered at last, "it's really not a huge deal, okay? It's all under the bridge, anyway." A disheartened tone entered his voice, as he pulled the fabric tight. "Nothing's going to change." He tied a bow, set the bouquet to one side, reached for another handfuls of stems and started trimming. Roxas studied him for a couple of minutes, hands still, before Hayner glanced up, disgruntled, and said, "Are you going to admire me all morning, or are you going to make pretty bunches of flowers?"

"…To be honest, I don't know which of those would make my sexuality more questionable," he replied after a beat. Hayner snorted, recognised his cue, the point at which both conversations – Roxas' hand, and whatever the hell was going on with that whole Hayner-Olette-Seifer triangle crap – would be dropped.

"Oh, honey, you know you're all man to me." It was said without its usual enthusiasm, and with a hefty roll of the eyes, but it was a start. The beauty of their friendship was that each knew when was a good time to just stop talking – they could spend countless hours on Hayner's patio shooting the breeze, but it was equally as important to be able to keep your mouth shut and pretend there was nothing to talk about sometimes.

The trip passed uneventfully, boring and slightly nauseating due to the constant motion in the back of the van, the inability for Roxas to see anything more than glimpses of speeding sky and tree through the back windows. The air grew icy cold, the back made to be well-sealed so that, even on long days, the flowers wouldn't wilt while they waited to be delivered. Aerith kept the vents going, blowing air-conditioning through to keep things fresh enough for them to comfortably breathe, but this added to the cold, made it so that the blonds were shivering violently after the first thirty minutes. Their shaking fingers worked quickly, clumsily, trying to get through the enormous load of lilies in time, bodies instinctively pressing together, shoulders and thighs, to preserve what little heat they produced in comparison.

Roxas' nose went completely numb. He grew to detest the smell of ice cubes, an almost chemical scent, stinging his nostrils with each inhalation. His head ached at the dreadful chill, but, somehow, he preferred this to being in the melting sunniness. It was dim in here, protected. In some section of his mind, he honestly didn't mind being crushed back here, where no one could see him, quietly and calmly turning loose flowers into small, casual arrangements. He hoped the employers weren't expecting too much from their last-minute efforts; Aerith was the one with the artistic flair, the two blonds' abilities simple at best.

They stopped only once on the way, for Aerith to refill the gas-tank, and the boys to stretch their legs and get their blood circulating more strongly. They jogged up and down the short parking-lot, not enough to begin perspiring properly, but hopefully enough to raise their core temperatures for a while after they climbed back into what had become a tight, refrigerative atmosphere. The brunette questioned their comfort, but they assured her they were doing fine – besides which, the lilies weren't going to arrange themselves. Frowning a little, Aerith reluctantly let them return to the cold. Though it had been her idea in the first place, the last thing she wanted was for them to get sick. Before Roxas re-entered, she pressed a hand to his shoulder, asked, "Are you sure you don't want to sit up front? You've been unwell…" Brow knitting, she brushed some of the slightly damp blond hair from his face. "You're looking pale."

He'd smiled. "Aerith, I'm fine." He climbed into the van before the cold could start escaping in earnest, and he and Hayner spent the remainder of the incredibly long, dull trip making arrangement after arrangement, discussing trivial matters as their minds focused on trying to get as much quality as possible into each one, setting them aside into carefully-placed piles. Gradually, the percentage of loose lilies dwindled, though they still hadn't finished by the time they reached Traverse Town.

Feeling the van slow down from its open speed along the highway, hearing the growl of other vehicles increase sharply, the two boys deduced that they had reached the bubbling metropolis, Hayner's head coming up with interest, relief. Roxas had been to Traverse a grand total of once, dragged by Pence to a gallery opening. He hadn't liked the place; too exposed, too busy, too rubbishy. It was nothing like Twilight Town's peaceful streets and neighbourhoods. The sunset here, Roxas had found, was dirty. The thought of staying until past nightfall, when things would only get more crowded in between the garish lights, was disheartening.

They were driving for about twenty minutes before Aerith pulled over, banged on the divide between the front and back of the van, Hayner's cue to clamber to his feet and go sit in the passenger's seat to navigate. He threw a cocky wink over his shoulder as he pushed open the door, a burst of heat entering the frigid interior. "Have fun making daisy-chains," he grinned, slamming it shut after him. Roxas firmly gave the door the finger. They were both bored stiff with the stupid lilies by now. Three hours was way too long to sit in-between crates of ice and make wedding decorations, no two ways about it. They didn't even have any food or drink to tide them over – Roxas' stomach was just about clawing itself to pieces, he hadn't eaten since the previous day, and even that had only been a hastily bolted half a sandwich Hayner had picked up from The Usual Spot while he'd been out, in the two minutes before Aerith had shoved him off to do deliveries. Prior to that, the only thing to hit his stomach had been the ever-dubious, unlabelled chicken. Not exactly a diet of champions.

He had spent most of the journey thirstily sucking down ice cubes, much to Hayner's disgusted claims about all the various sorts of nasty shit that was put into them to keep them hard for longer. Roxas figured, oh, well, you had to go sometime – why not ice-cube poisoning, if it had to be anything? He had yet to drop dead from it, and he'd been eating them for months.

The vehicle started up again, and Roxas could tell from the moment that it pulled away from the curb that Hayner was behind the wheel – the turns had got suddenly lazy. Aerith was a more careful driver than this; up til now, the crates hadn't been sliding all over the fucking place. He had bruised shins and elbows in moments. After five minutes of such treatment, he reached back, slammed a fist several times against the partition, trying desperately to keep the piles of flowers from getting crushed by the scraping boxes. Either the blond got the hint, or Aerith realised her error and kept him in check, because from then on, everything remained more or less stable, although Roxas' nausea increased more in the following fifteen minutes than it had the entire rest of the drive.

Eventually, he felt them slowing, felt them stop, and the engine, at long, blessed last, cut out. Muttering a soft, "Hallelujah," under his breath, Roxas began carefully gathering the fruits of their last few hours together, laying them carefully in several of the ice-laden boxes and buckets. There were footsteps outside, the door unlatching, sliding across, light coming bursting in. Roxas squinted, stood stiffly, legs and buttocks numb, ready to buzz with an agonising wave of pins-and-needles. The heat slammed into him like a wall, making the car-sickness suddenly worse. A headache sprung up behind his eyes, mouth twisting to the side as he grimaced. Aerith was gone already, scouting the area out, and Roxas, looking up as he stepped down at last to the hard bitumen of a parking lot, studied the large church that the wedding was being held at. Arms folding behind his head, he leaned back to let his eyes travel high to the cross mounting its peak.

Hayner was talking, pointing something out, but it was background noise that didn't quite penetrate Roxas' mind – he was, very abruptly, not feeling well at _all. _Maybe it was the sharp temperature change, the lack of nutrients, the strain of the last few days finally catching up, but the boy found it difficult, all of a sudden, to be standing. Cigarette-holes burnt his vision wherever he looked, sweat popping out as if he'd just finished dragging around those godforsaken pots a third fucking time, legs going shaky, rubbery, weak.

Hayner grabbed his arm as he swayed, frowning face drawing his focus down from the height of the cross. "Roxas? What's up, man, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Roxas pitched to the side, collapsed, passed out without a murmur.

He could've sworn, with a final coherent observation, as his eyes slammed shut and everything went away for a while, that he'd caught a glimpse of red hair in the peripherals of the world.

Roxas was back to making daisy-chains, sitting in the rear of the van, its door yawning open as Aerith and Hayner quickly carried crates back and forth, setting up inside the church, the wedding guests a mere two hours from arriving. He did it quietly, without complaint, although it meant continuing boredom, much to his disdain. But… his legs could barely hold him when he stood. The strength was gone from his limbs, even his fingers having trouble as he worked on the bouquets destined to adorn the park marquee.

Aerith and Hayner worked feverishly, the blond following the woman's every clipped direction, the brunette calm now, business-like. Now that they were here, she was doing a good job of holding everything together, despite being one worker short. She refused to let Roxas out of the van again until he'd got some food into his stomach, Hayner having helpfully pointed out his less-than-supreme eating habits, knowing his friend wasn't likely to have had breakfast, either, as he was wont to do most days.

There was a crunching of loose bitumen, followed by a thump, the van sinking as Hayner launched himself from outside to inside, shimmering with sweat, cheeks burning red. He threw the shorter blond a glance, demanded, "How are you feeling?" as he stalked to the back, bent and grabbed one of the crates. Roxas grunted in response, trying to keep his focus on the flowers. Hayner kicked him with a toe as he went past, managed to jab a finger at him and not drop the box, though there was a sharp rattle of ice. "What the hell is up with you lately, man?" He didn't give the blond a chance to reply, jumping the short distance to the ground, vanishing out of sight. Glancing around, Roxas noticed that that had been the last of the load due for the church. From here, it was all a matter of setting up, something which Aerith had been going at for about fifteen minutes now. Her style of disorganised arrangement was popular, and despite its random, wildflower appearance, it took the woman a while to achieve. Although she hadn't been the initial choice for the couple in question, she was determined to make her design stick in their minds. Her idea of leaving her business card was to have people asking who had done it, allowing word of mouth to travel. Roxas had to admit, he liked the way she operated – she had an ability to make everything look natural.

It was an hour before Hayner reappeared, looking cooler than before, his expression less agitated. Roxas' little fainting stunt had put the taller blond on edge, had brought the wary look back into his expression, with frustration to round it all out, plus a glint of something beneath that Roxas could only assume was worry. Climbing up into the van, Hayner settled beside him, gathered a handful of the remaining lilies, and it was as if neither of them had ever even left, as if the trip hadn't ended. There was silence for a while, Roxas too weary to try and strike up anything resembling proper conversation, while Hayner frowned down at his ceaselessly shifting hands. At last, he could only ask, "Rox, have you been sleeping okay?"

Roxas paused, looked sideways, Hayner's gaze remaining lowered. A scowl worked its way onto his features. "I'm sleeping fine." A sliver of coldness in his tone, foreign and unexpected, caused the other blond to stop, glance over in confusion. Hazel eyes studied piercing blue for a long moment.

"…No nightmares?"

The creases in Roxas' forehead deepened, his fingers returning to their work. "No," he mumbled. He reached up, rubbed one eye. "If – if you think this is related to that blank period the other night, then… just forget about it, okay? It's really not."

"You haven't been eating," Hayner stated, with more certainty than Roxas thought he deserved, "and you look like you're barely sleeping." His brows lowered, a slightly unsettled look falling into place. "…And, I've gotta say, Rox – it's not exactly the newest of new things, you know?"

The blond shot him a sharp glance. "What's that mean? 'Not exactly the newest of new things'?"

Hayner shrugged, weaving thick green stems together for a long bouquet, the velvety heads of the lilies bobbing and jerking. "You don't eat much when I'm not around. I've noticed. It's like… if you're not cooking for both of us, or we're not out in public at The Usual Spot or wherever, you don't really bother." His eyes flashed over to the shorter of the two. "You don't bring lunch anymore, and I haven't seen you eat breakfast in weeks." He took a breath as Roxas glared.

"So what?" he demanded. "Have you realised that the slight miscalculation in all that is that _you're not always there when I eat?" _He arched an eyebrow, rolled his eyes. "What am I, fading away?" He paused, patted his stomach. Okay, so maybe he wasn't as fleshy as he used to be, but he wasn't exactly wasting away, either. He looked, and felt, healthy. There was no way he could have done his job properly if he wasn't.

"Every time I see you," the blond argued softly, "you've got bags under your eyes, Roxas. And every time you sleep at my place, your nightmares are worse and worse, and I find it hard to believe that that's totally restricted to _only _my place. Your sleep patterns are shit, admit it."

"I say again: so _what, _Hayner? Stop pointing out the fucking obvious and say something constructive." Roxas shook his head. "It's no secret that my sleep patterns are shit, is it? And as for food, I've just been running out of time for that sort of thing, Hay." He leaned forward, twisting his head to engage the taller boy's gaze, which had returned to the lilies. An element of pleading entered his tone as he asked, "Please, don't think there's something _wrong _with me. I've been like this for a while now, right? It's not to do with my episodes, and it's not even to do with anything much in particular. It's just a phase I'm going through, don't you think?" His eyebrows pushed together as he studied his friend. "I mean, it's not like I'm depressed, or have issues or anything. Stuff like this fluctuates, eating and sleeping, it's normal for people our age, Hayner." The pleading turned to brief desperation. _"Please, _don't think there's something wrong with me."

Hayner sighed, shook his head. "Roxas – I think it's pretty obvious there _is _something up with you. The episodes aren't normal, and neither are the nightmares." As Roxas froze up, a chill wind blowing across his expression, Hayner looked up sharply. "I'm not about to tell you to go get professional help, man, you know I'm not. I don't have the right to tell you you're fucked up or whatever… but…" He grimaced, drew up his knees, resting his arms across them and his face on top of the straight line they formed, staring sideways at the other boy. "It doesn't mean I don't worry about you. How would you feel if it was me, or Olette or Pence? Huh? Nightmares, appetite-loss – I don't care if it's nothing we can pinpoint or medicate or whatever, I just want to point it out so we can maybe start doing something about it." As the cold look didn't leave Roxas' face, Hayner ran a hand over his features tiredly. "Listen, that's the first time you've passed out, Rox. It was pretty gross, I can tell you, your eyes were right up in your fucking skull, and you – you drooled right onto my fucking arm, which was kind of disgusting." He shook his head, as Roxas wordlessly huffed at this. "What's next, huh? Are you going to make a habit of fainting all over the place? Maybe when you're in the shower, or in the middle of work in front of a client? Are you going to piss yourself, next time? Am I going to have to clean your _piss _off me, Roxas?"

Fed up with the increasingly ranting spiel, Roxas rolled his eyes, said with sarcastic exasperation, "If I _do_, I apologise in _advance_, how's that?"

"That's even assuming I'm even there to catch you," Hayner powered on, disregarding the fact that the blond had spoken at all. "I mean, that's _if _you're not alone and end up cracking your head open on your kitchen counter, or burn yourself or, I don't know, _drown _or something."

"Or maybe I'll set my apartment on fire," Roxas suggested with heavy scorn, "or drive off a cliff, or fall out a window. Oh, boy, the possibilities are endless." He reached out, smacked the back of Hayner's head, making the blond yelp. "For Christ's sake, you're blowing this so out of proportion it's not even funny," he complained. "I suck at eating and sleeping at the moment, like roughly half the rest of the world, and I passed out on a _hot _fucking day after a _long _fucking car-ride, which made me feel sick I might add, and suddenly you're waiting for me to somehow kill myself?" He scoffed, shook his head, reached for more lilies. "I'm feeling better, anyway," he said firmly, making Hayner eye him suspiciously. "It was a one-time thing, Hay, so just – let it go. Once I have lunch, I'll be fine. Stop being a goddamn doom-merchant."

Hayner pouted and rubbed the back of his head, muttering, "Bitch."

A dark shadow appeared in the doorway, Aerith hissing, _"Language! _For goodness' sake, we're in public, and you're sitting in the shop van! I could hear you talking almost from the church. _Please, _boys!"

"It wasn't me," Roxas mumbled, jerking a thumb at the other blond, who promptly glared.

"How're we looking, captain?" Hayner inquired, hands remaining busy. Aerith lifted her head with a deep breath, smiled wearily.

"All done here, gentlemen. We'll stop for lunch, then get started on the marquee." The smile faded as she leaned forward, pressed her hand to Roxas' forehead. "How are you feeling?" she asked, with concern. Roxas shrugged.

"I'm okay, Aerith. I just need to eat something, I guess. I'll make sure I get an early night, that sort of thing."

Her green eyes flicked around the van's interior. "You've done a good job with the lilies. Now we just have to focus on setting them up when the time comes…" She frowned. "But please, if you start feeling strange, or faint, take a break, Roxas. Hayner and I can manage together like we did in the church. You must _say _something if you're feeling bad."

The blond nodded, not bothering to tell her that, if he'd had a chance, he'd have said something when it was _happening – _he'd just gone from okay to unconscious in too small an amount of time to be able to ask for help. If Aerith heard this, she'd all but strap him to the passenger's seat and never let him go.

Roxas and Hayner climbed to their feet, exited the back of the van, leaving Aerith to slide the door shut as they went around to the front, Roxas at the window, Hayner in the middle, and their boss minutes later taking up the driver's seat. "Looks like it'll be a nice ceremony," Hayner said idly, as they gave the building one last look, the van rumbling over towards the road, pulling smoothly out into the flow of traffic. "Although it's a weird thing about the florist that was originally hired, huh, Aerith?" The brunette glanced over, eyes suddenly wide, nodding firmly.

"I just don't understand who would do such a thing," she said, voice low. "It really is dreadful."

Interest piqued, Roxas asked, "What is it? What happened?" Hayner stretched his arms over the back of his head, propping his hands against his hair.

"It's pretty gross," he warned, "but someone apparently snuck into the shop that was originally hired… and set fire to it." Roxas' eyes bugged. Hayner clicked his fingers to signify just how quickly everything had burnt. "Whoosh, just like that – their whole supply was _gone. _Good thing we're all insured against that sort of thing."

"How do you know someone snuck in?" the other blond asked, gaping. A crease had appeared between Aerith's brows.

"It was localised," she confided, concentrating half on driving, half on the conversation. "If it had been accidental, there's no telling how much of the shop would have been lost – but it was _only _the flowers. They had nothing left to use, and couldn't afford to spend the time or money special-ordering in a new lot, not to mention the sudden paperwork they've got from the insurance company and the police..." She shrugged a little, helplessly. "So, the owner called me last night – apparently it happened sometime around eight o'clock – and asked if I'd take over the commission. The couple getting married are from Twilight Town, and although they've come to Traverse for the ceremony because it's more central for all the different relatives, they still wanted to use a local business."

Blue eyes shifting to stare blankly out the windscreen. "That's… such an act of sabotage," he softly said. "It's so _deliberate." _He ran a hand through his hair, mumbled, "I hope no one ever hates _us _that much."

Aerith tutted from the driver's seat, peering briefly into the side mirror before turning a corner. "I can't imagine anyone hating _anyone _that much."

"Besides," Hayner drawled, "it's the _flower _business, for Christ's sake. What'd they do, forget a couple roses and incite the wrath of a pyromaniac?"

At this, Roxas' face drew slowly down into a frown. Thoughts of candle-flames and ash flashed through his mind, so split-second intense that he could almost taste charcoal on his tongue. "Arson…" he muttered darkly, causing Hayner to glance curiously over. "What a mindless thing to do."

One eyebrow arching, the other blond nodded his agreement, studying his friend's expression carefully. "Yeah."

Silence grew for several minutes, Roxas winding up his window to sink against the glass. When Hayner complained at the heat, Roxas simply ignored him, closed his eyes, not caring to explain – not knowing how – that he felt too exposed with it down. Aerith, guessing incorrectly that the blond was feeling shaky again, wound up her own and instead got the air-con going again, a luxury neither of the males ever felt brave enough to employ with gas prices as high as they were. There were, Roxas decided, definite advantages to riding around with the boss.

Said boss announced, a few streets later, "Look, there's the park." Roxas opened his eyes, looked out, had his vision obscured a bare second later as Hayner planted a hand on his knee and leaned over him, neck craning, generously gifting the blond with a faceful of wavy spikes. "I don't see the tent," the boy complained.

"That makes two of us," Roxas dryly mumbled. "You make a better door than a window, Hay."

Breezily, Hayner replied, "Ah, there's nothing to see, anyway." He rubbed his head into Roxas' mouth, making the boy splutter and glare, before returning victoriously to his position in the middle.

Aerith parallel-parked along the opposite curb, outside a lunch-bar, and the three trooped in, Aerith inviting them to get whatever they wanted to be charged to the shop accounts. In response to their surprise, she fondly explained, "I appreciate your attitudes today, boys. You deserve something nice."

Hayner, not pausing to give the woman time to change her mind, gravitated instantly towards the ice-cream freezer. "Roxas!" he happily called, pointing down at the frosted glass. "Sea-salts!"

The shorter blond's nose wrinkled. "Pass. I don't feel like anything sweet." After shooting him a vastly disapproving look, the hazel-eyed boy slid the cover open, plunged a hand in. "Besides, don't you think we've had enough of icy stuff today?"

Hayner made a rude noise. "Jeeze, Roxas, it's not like there's a quota on it." He came out with two bars, wrappers crackling. He waved them in the brunette's direction, asking, "Hey, Aerith, can I get these?"

The woman glanced over from browsing the sandwich boards. "Only if you get something decent as well." She took on a faintly reprimanding expression, adding in a barely audible murmur, "I'm not having anyone else pass out on me today."

Roxas, at her side, suffered a stab of guilt. It wasn't Aerith's fault, or responsibility, and yet she was acting as if, because it happened in her care, she should have been able to avert it. It wasn't _her _fault Roxas was absent-mindedly skipping meals… wasn't her fault that too many things requiring full energy output had taken place so close to the tail-end of one of his episodes, the existence of which the woman was kept ignorant. He didn't like to think what it would do to his employability if something like that were to come to light. Hayner had taken care of him so far in that respect – he always kept the blond home at his apartment, gave excuses of some kind or another to cover his absence. Roxas was – grateful to him. He didn't really know what he'd do without Hayner there… didn't know what he'd done _before _the occasionally cantankerous blond had come along.

No, really – he… he didn't know.

He supposed he had just – taken care of himself.

"Roxas?"

The twenty-one-year-old blinked, turned his head with a blank look and a questioning hum. Aerith seemed expectant, as if she'd asked him something. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Do you see anything you like?" she repeated.

"Oh." Blond brows drew together, blue eyes scanning the various names. "I'll just take… one of those." He pointed to the menu, the guy serving them twisting to see, before writing it down on an order-pad. It turned out Hayner and Aerith had already chosen; Roxas was zoning out. Who could blame him, after the last few days? After all, this time yesterday, he'd still been hung-over.

It took only a few minutes for their orders to be freshly made, Aerith grabbing bottles of dragon-fruit flavoured mineral water for each of them and paying, the three of them marching out onto the street with their white paper bags. The pink-clad woman led the way across the semi-quiet road, into the park, where they found a picnic bench further away from all the traffic noises and settled down to eat. Hayner, perched on the table, was already halfway through his second ice-cream, the barren stick of the first stuck behind one ear. His lunch was devoured just as fast and, while Roxas was only just reaching the halfway point on the fish sandwich he'd got, Hayner was lighting a cigarette downwind of them, earning a hearty glare from Aerith.

"Hayner!" Her voice just about dripped icicles.

He jumped, said defensively, "We're not on duty, and I'm nowhere near the van!"

"It's rude," the brunette argued sniffily. "Smoking's an awful habit, and it makes you stink."

"_I'm down – wind!" _

"What about Roxas? You might make him feel sick again."

"Aerith," Hayner retorted, "the guy practically _lives _with me, if he didn't like – "

"I don't mind," the blond quietly interrupted. He sent Aerith a crooked smile. "I… actually kind of like it. It reminds me of…" He trailed off, eyes slipping out of focus.

"Of?" Hayner prompted. Roxas gave a small, puzzled smile.

"Hearts," he said. "Broken hearts."

Hayner and Aerith both stared. "Well, _that's _random," the blond commented blandly, after a beat. "Hands up if you expected _that _answer." No hands entered the air, not even Roxas'. Hayner snorted, muttered, "Broken hearts," and let out a stream of smoke. Outnumbered, Aerith contented herself with a look of great distaste, and focused on not breathing any of it in. Roxas stared at his half a fish sandwich, and found that all appetite had dissipated. He set it aside gingerly, its paper crinkling, and instead opened his drink, steadily sipping it away.

Hayner finished his cigarette, finished Roxas' lunch, and at last it was time to resume work. Checking her watch, Aerith wistfully sighed, "The marriage will be underway now…"

Snuffing a laugh, Hayner teased, "It's not too late for you to run on back and see about catching that bouquet."

She slapped his arm lightly as they headed back to the van, scolded, "Stop that! Mean boy…"

Roxas smirked, looked over slyly and said, "Are you sure it's not _you _that's desperate to catch it, Hay? I haven't seen you with a girl the whole time I've known you."

The smack to his head, when it came, held an unexpected sting, making the blond hiss and duck away, fingers instinctively rising to touch the area.

"Shut your goddamn hole," Hayner growled, and, for once, Aerith didn't tell him to watch his language. Neither of them said anything; the expression on the blond's features were enough to keep them silent, let the matter drop completely, with only a flickered exchange of stunned glances.

Quietly, they returned to the white, be-flowered vehicle, the scent of lily thick and strong, invading every crevice, every crack of rubber, plastic, leather. Roxas was developing a headache at the sharp, sweet omnipresence of it, no escape from its perfume clutches. Rubbing his forehead, Roxas kept a sharp eye out as they circled the park's perimeter in search of the inward-leading drive that would take them practically to the marquee's tent-flaps. Hayner, holding the directions tightly, murmured and instruction of, "Here," as they approached. The van slowed, indicator clicking hollowing in the silence, and they made their turn.

The white vehicle slowed as it progressed, stopping in a small parking lot already crammed with caterers and decorators, along with an electrical crew setting up floodlights and connecting sound sound-system speakers strategically for when the band wouldn't be playing. Afternoon was falling slowly upon Traverse Town, several hours left before the sun extinguished itself, but the day felt so long already, Roxas was sure that in any other part of the world it was already midnight. This place was just caught in some kind of cross-dimensional pull keeping it forever light.

He hauled himself out of the van, wishing he didn't feel so tired, considering that all he'd done so far was sit on his ass and be feeble. Hayner, in stark comparison, was still operating at full capacity, though there was an edge to him now that had yet to fall away and reveal his regular, ever-casual self. Aerith, concerned now for both her hapless blond labour-monkeys, could only assume professionalism and hope they would fall into line somewhere along the way. Her balm for their troubles was work; hard and physical for Hayner, hauling the final crates of ice-laden lilies from the back, while she and Roxas went about arranging them around the massive white marquee, after Aerith had found the head caterer and briefly discussed how things should be set up for maximum blending. It only took an hour for everything to be arranged, a more open space here, with fewer boundaries to work with. In the end, Aerith's organisation worked well, the food and flowers offsetting each other around the main table. Several sleek, black vases had been brought along to house the long-stemmed bouquets, which would be sent back to them by courier the next day.

The outside light was finally starting to take on an amber hue, the heat of the day lowering to a slow simmer which would thankfully be swept away with darkness. As Aerith paused before the inevitable three-hour drive to have a networking chat with the caterers, Hayner and Roxas returned to the van, locked it up and went to sit on the grass to allow their hot bodies to cool. The taller of the pair shifted restlessly, drumming his fingers, a scowl in place. After one hesitant glance at him, Roxas realised, stomach sinking, that one of Hayner's own 'episodes' was well on its way. He was very suddenly depressed, too exhausted at this moment to contemplate the amount of work that was in store for him in the next few days. Instead, he lay back on the cool greenery, forearms folding over his eyes, taking advantage of the few minutes left before the interminable journey back to Twilight Town began.

At his side, Hayner huffed, fidgeted for a minute or two, then, with a rustle of grass, climbed to his feet. "I'm going for a walk," he muttered, at which Roxas unveiled one crystal-blue eye.

"Where?" he asked, incredulously. Hayner glared down.

"Hey, I _do _know the area, you know," he snapped. "I haven't been hiding in Twilight Town my whole freaking life, I _have _stayed in Traverse before."

Swallowing his own knee-jerk response, Roxas calmly asked, "But how will we be able to find you when it's time to leave? Aerith isn't going to take much longer…"

"I know that!" Hayner ran a hand agitatedly through his hair, a hand on his hip, and, like he always did, Roxas couldn't help but feel sorry for the blond. All that aggravated energy, trapped for whatever reason inside one body, with no way of getting out until he either sorted it out mentally or had an explosion or, rare though they were, a breakdown… Hayner just didn't know what to do with himself during these times. Roxas could see it now, and pitied him.

"I'll head back to the lunch-bar, okay?" Hayner said at last, his tone impatient, brooking not an iota of argument. "Just drive around and pick me up, that shouldn't be too hard." Heavy sarcasm entered his voice, which Roxas ignored.

"Nah," he agreed softly, "it won't be hard." He was treated to a particularly irritated glance, due to what Hayner had once dubbed as his 'annoyingly non-confrontational' attitude. A moment later, the blond was gone, had stalked away, his steps crunching along the rough grass.

Sighing, Roxas re-covered his eye, retreated back into the softness of darkness, where the sun couldn't pierce, nor the heat melt; not even his blank states could affect how black it was here. It was nice to know that some things would remain unchanged, no matter where he went, or what he did. There was always time to hide behind yourself for a while.

Of course, this was interrupted, as only sweet peace is made to be, by the sound of shoes returning. Hayner had come back, no doubt grumpier than before – had he realised that it would be harder than he'd suggested for them to just pick him up along the way? Had he seen Aerith emerging from the marquee? Roxas once again revealed his eye, careful to not make any smart-ass comment that would get him treated to an icily cold-shoulder treatment for the next several days. He squinted up as a deep shadow fell across his head, eye widening as he realised that the person standing over him, silhouetted by sunlight, looking down at him curiously, wasn't his friend at all. The first jolt of his heart thought that it was the stalker, back and ready for action… but a different air radiated around this new person, and Roxas' mind realised long before his heart slowed back down that he looked entirely different as well. He blinked his one visible eye up at the young man that studied him. "Can I help you?" he asked, slightly wary. The guy's mouth quirked, a small, awkward smile of recognition that this wasn't what people usually did.

"Hey," he said, voice careful, non-threatening. "Uh, I know this is going to sound… _really _weird, but…" Roxas raised his brow, waited, eye narrowing slightly. The guy crouched, his features becoming suddenly easier to make out as he got closer. Roxas relaxed, just the slightest amount, natural caution fading slightly – he couldn't deny that this guy, whoever he was and whatever he wanted… he had a nice face. It was sort of… trustworthy. Or something. Not only that, but it was completely lacking in the hardness Hayner had been sporting – a nice change, one which was pathetically welcome in his sapped state. The guy, his slightly spiky hair shining in the light, reached out to nervously pluck some grass. "I think that… someone might be following you," he said sheepishly.

This got Roxas' attention.

As he stiffened, the guy, looking suddenly alarmed, held out a hand, said quickly, "Don't make any sharp moves or anything – I mean, I might be entirely wrong, but, but I don't want him to realise we're talking about him if you suddenly start looking around."

"Him? Who?" Roxas demanded intently, breaths shorter. "What does he look like?"

The guy took a breath, kept picking at the ground. "He's – he's got a lot of red hair. I've been here a couple hours, watching everyone set up the marquee. I'm not, like, part of it or anything – to be honest, I should be asleep right now – but I was here, and I figured 'why not?'… And I noticed this other guy, not exactly lurking around, but…"

"What makes you think he's following _me?" _Roxas asked shortly, chest currently too constricted to bother with allowing the boy a safety net of uncertainty in case he turned out to be wrong.

"Well… he's been watching you, I noticed that," the boy said earnestly. "I started looking at him to see where he was looking, and you were always around… And he keeps shifting around, so that he's behind you, out of sight unless you really start looking… And, just now, when you and your friend came over here, he moved again, so that he could get a bit closer… He's over in the trees." Roxas' eyes, despite him, darted over, but the guy was in the way. "The whole reason I even came over is because, when your friend left a minute ago, this guy started looking like he was about to come over to you, and I don't know, I just got a _hyper _creepy feeling from him…" His head tilted to match the angle of Roxas' gaze, worried. "I'm not being creepy myself, am I? You actually do know him, and I've just been paranoid on your behalf or something?"

Roxas' lips pursed. "No, he – he's not someone I know. And I _have _had a guy with red hair following me lately. I actually met him for the first time last night, and he – tried to grab me." The boy's blue eyes widened dramatically.

"That's scary," he breathed. Concern tightened his features. "Look, I can hang around if you want, or I can go chase him off, I really wouldn't mind doing that for you. Your boss is over in the marquee, though, right?" Roxas hesitated, nodded. "I can walk you over there, if you want," the guy said firmly. "You definitely shouldn't be left alone. Have you reported him to police yet?"

Roxas shook his head. "I don't know… if it's serious enough," he said uncertainly. "He…" His eyes slipped shut. "I don't want to involve the cops if I don't have to."

Reluctantly, the guy nodded. "I guess. It's up to you, after all."

Roxas paused for a moment, trying to gather his whirling thoughts together, then slowly sat up, deliberately not looking around. He tried to snatch glances out of the corners of his eyes, but could see nothing worth noting – definitely no glimpses of red. However… hadn't he seen something just as he was passing out, back at the church?

How long had the redhead been tracking him here? Had he followed Roxas all the way from _Twilight Town? _It seemed impossible… _impossible _that anyone would do that sort of thing, for any reason.

The guy, his guardian angel it would seem, reached out a hand, helped Roxas to his feet, gripped his elbow as he swayed a little. "You okay?" he asked sceptically. "Not going to throw up or anything, are you?" Roxas shook his head.

"No," he said faintly. "I'm fine. I'll just… go wait in the van, I think. Wait for Aerith to get back." Satisfied with this, the guy let him go, the two of them crossing the grass back to the vehicle. Roxas, with the keys, unlocked it and climbed in, not feeling even slightly safe until the door was slammed shut in his wake. The guy tapped on the glass, smiled hopefully. Warily, Roxas leaned over, wound down the window a few inches. "I'll just wait out here until your boss comes, okay?" he asked. Roxas nodded gratefully.

"Thanks for noticing him," he said hoarsely. "What's your name?"

A hand was extended through the narrow gap, Roxas gripping it and automatically shaking. "Tidus." As Roxas released him, he ran a hand through his blond hair, spiked but with a surfer's wave to each lock.

"I'm Roxas," he replied. Disheartened, he added, "But hell, even my stalker knows that."

Tidus made a face. "Is he an ex-boyfriend or something?"

Roxas paused for a moment, before shaking his head. "Before yesterday… I'd never seen the guy in my life." The guy took pause at this, absorbed it, shook his head.

"That really _is _scary," he said softly. "Don't worry, then – I'll stay til he's gone." He smiled crookedly. "Then I'll go sleep some more, I think – I've got a night-job to get to in a few hours."

Roxas left the window open, settled back against the seat, wishing that Aerith would hurry up, that Hayner had never left – there was definitely no way he could go back to his own place tonight, not now that he'd been followed to _Traverse _Town. That was – more dedicated stalker than the blond was willing to face on his own, pepper spray or no.

He _couldn't _have followed them so closely to Traverse Town… Roxas remembered looking around at the gas station, seeing no cars coming or going at that point on the broad, open road, and the guy certainly hadn't been there at the station, he'd have been instantly visible, to both Roxas _and _Hayner. So, then – what the hell? He couldn't have got there _before _Roxas, he shouldn't have even known that the blond was _going _to Traverse Town – God knew he himself hadn't known until after he'd been so rudely thrust against the van outside the store and then led in to see the increasingly hysterical Aerith. It was – too much for him to puzzle out. It hurt his head to try, and it was tender enough to begin with, what with one thing and another.

Aerith returned ten minutes after Tidus had set up watch. Seeing her coming, the blond surfer-type had rapped against the glass, startling Roxas out of a reverie, and nodded in a friendly fashion over to where Aerith was coming. Relief flooded him, and he grinned at Tidus, mouthed, _Thank you, _through the glass. The guy winked, tipped an imaginary hat, and wandered off before the brunette could wonder what he was doing there. Roxas let out a breath, sank down into his seat, eyes shutting. Aerith was there a moment later, opening her door and climbing in, asking, surprised, "Where's Hayner?"

"Lunch-bar. He went for a walk," Roxas muttered, rubbing at his eyes, more fatigued than ever. Aerith tutted sympathetically.

"You really do need a rest," she fretted. "Tomorrow, Roxas, take the day off, okay? I'd really rather that you did. You're no good to me if you're like this, anyway."

Roxas found the energy to snort a laugh, peering at her from beyond his palm. "Okay, Aerith. Since I'm so desperate to be useful and all." She rolled her eyes, started the van up.

"So, Hayner's at the lunch-bar?"

"Hmm." Roxas leaned against the window, listening to Aerith mutter about picking up errant strays. He was sleepy, wanted to shut his eyes, but fear kept him buzzing beyond his tiredness. His gaze darted back and forth from his position against the glass, glittering in the sunlight, searching anxiously for sign of that person, that man, the one that was making Roxas' life suddenly so damn difficult. He didn't see him. At no point did he catch sight of those scarlet spikes… but he _had _to be there – that Tidus guy hadn't just made the story up.

However, as they paused at the side of the road, Hayner getting in silently, shoving his way into the middle and buckling up… Roxas _did _catch sight of someone.

A brunet. A boy with spikes, standing several metres down the street, at a cross-walk. He didn't look like he was trying to cross, though… he just stood there, frowning over at where Roxas sat. His eyes, Roxas could tell even from a distance, were blue, almost as much as his own. Their gazes locked, a shiver passing down the blond's spine, something arcing through the air between them. Some… kind of familiarity, a spark of recognition. Try as he might, Roxas couldn't think where he'd seen that face before, only that he _had. _

He had seen that face, seen those eyes… somewhere distant and disconnected. As if they'd been brothers in a prior lifetime. It was like – looking at a piece of himself, from somewhere along the line.

He wanted to grab Hayner's arm and shake it, beckon him urgently to press his face to the glass and look out at the brunet, ask him where they had seen this creature before. _Where? When? _

But, as it was, he could only sit mutely and stare, endure as the other did the same.

Aerith changed gears, pulled out into the pace and hum of the traffic. Just like that, the boy was cut from sight, and no amount of craning on Roxas' behalf could bring that sliver of pavement back into sight. He reached out, ready to wind the window desperately down, but his fingers paused as he touched the hard plastic. He stopped, and wondered, with bewilderment, what he was doing. His reflection was facing him, mirror-image of confusion. Wasn't he meant to be keeping a low profile? Keeping out of view of the redheaded stalker?

He drew back, settled agitatedly into his seat, arm pressing against Hayner, but the other blond acting distant. He didn't even notice Roxas' brief flurry of energy, didn't pick up on the distress that had blossomed from when he'd realised he was being actively followed. Roxas slumped, finally, fingers swinging around to press his eyes shut. The van rumbled, swooped in and out of the other vehicles, eventually found the highway and smoothed out into high speeds. It was a relief to not be spending the trip cooped up in the back, as much as he'd have appreciated the closed-in quality right now, more even than ever.

For a while, the blond gave in to exhaustion, and slumbered fitfully against the window, rolling and bumping with the twists and turns they took along the way. He woke briefly, at one point, when they took one turn particularly sharply, a cat having paused mid-run across the road, causing Aerith to hiss and jerk the wheel. Hayner's hand automatically gripped him, kept him steady, though the taller boy's expression, when Roxas looked blearily over, was still as rock-steady sullen as ever. He dozed again, and didn't wake fully until they reached Twilight Town. He felt as much as heard the engine slow, the van traversing the night traffic with ease, Aerith confidently swinging into the back roads, taking them coasting to a halt in the alleyway behind the store. A pool of orange illumination flooded down from streetlight situated directly over them, turning them various shades of sepia as they clambered out. Aerith patted each of them on the shoulder, whispering, as if it were incredibly late instead of only a quarter to nine, "Sleep well, boys, thank you for all your effort today. I appreciate it. I'll check to make sure the shop is fine, but you two head home, okay?" With a sweet smile, she opened the gate, slipped into the yard, the lock slipping shut with an audible click that left the blonds alone. They stood there for a moment, watching where she had stood, before Hayner turned on heel, started walking away without a word.

Wearily, Roxas wondered what it was about that whole marriage comment that had affected him as deeply as all this. The way things were going, Hayner was going to turn around and tell him that Olette had got engaged to Seifer when he wasn't paying attention. Limbs heavy, the blond set off after his friend at a jog. "Hayner." His voice travelled and echoed in the stillness of the alleyway, the night. The other boy didn't respond, eliciting a sigh of exasperation from Roxas. He called again, more insistently, _"Hayner!" _Catching up, he grabbed hold of the other's sleeve, stopped him with a tug, earning a twist of the head and a sharp glare.

"What do you want? I'm going home. I don't have time to pander to you right now."

Roxas didn't flinch like he once would've, more than accustomed to the harsh poison Hayner was capable of when he turned out like this. "Look, I know you're not happy with me right now," he said, receiving a snort and then a bitter laugh in response, "but I need to stay at your place for a while." His tone was intent enough to still a little of the wry derision in the boy's hazel eyes. When no argument was forthcoming, Roxas took this as his cue to press on, but hesitated briefly before continuing. The words, when he said them, were a winding version of truth: "I don't want to leave you alone like this, Hay."

There came a growl, the taller one wrenching free, starting to stomp away. "I don't need your help."

"Maybe not." Roxas pursued in his footsteps, persisting, "But that doesn't mean I don't want to make sure you're okay. Right?"

"Not right," Hayner replied dully. "Leave me alone."

At times like this, it really was wisest to leave the blond alone, leave him to his own devices, something Roxas had learned. He felt guilty that it took his own needs to spur him enough to not just give up in the face of a complete and utter brick wall. "I'm going to follow you," he vowed, legs having to struggle slightly to keep up with Hayner's naturally longer strides, "and if you leave me standing outside, I'll howl and complain until the neighbours call the cops." They were on the main road now, the lights of The Usual Spot, open for late business, blazing across the street as they walked uphill.

"Leave. Me. Alone," Hayner bit off impatiently, eyes averting from the restaurant as they passed. Roxas glanced over, wondering if Olette was working tonight. "I wish I didn't know you, you're like a freaking puppy always needing someone to pick up its shit and give it a bowl of milk."

Roxas clicked his teeth together, followed Hayner for several more minutes without speaking, figuring he'd just trail him without permission. This was foiled when, as they rounded a quiet corner, Hayner whirled, brought his fists up, and snarled, "If you don't piss off, _right now, _I'll fucking pin you to the wall!"

Roxas blinked rapidly, thought processes down as he attempted a smirk, said, "I knew you couldn't wait to pin – " A fist slammed into the soft flesh of his gut, doubling him over. His fingers leapt up, sinking nails into the other blond's arm, dragging until they were buried deep enough to stop against the flesh. They stayed like that for a minute, neither one moving, a frozen tableau of violence, Roxas curled over Hayner's knuckles.

"I'm not going back to my place," the blue-eyed blond gritted out breathlessly. "I'm coming _home _with you, Hayner. Don't make me sleep on the doorstep."

Shifting, Hayner withdrew his fist, but didn't let Roxas drop, holding his shoulder. After all, he got angry during his own episodes – but he, unlike Roxas, didn't just flat-out stop caring. "I think you're full of shit," he said bluntly. "But I guess the one thing pathetic little puppies can always count on is some poor fucking sap taking them in, right?" He pushed Roxas against the wall, turned away, hands digging into pockets, and resumed walking. After a long moment, throbbing in several places, traces of blood under his fingernails, Roxas straightened, a little wobbly, and followed. It wasn't going to be a fun night, and he sure as hell wasn't welcome – but at least he could spend a few hours with his eyes shut, not worrying that anyone was going to come breaking in through the door.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **I officially have no idea if it's any good or not. I've read it too many times :S It bores me like you wouldn't believe. Still – good to be working on this story again :) PS, I'm a melodramatic whore and I love it. ...I miss Mello :(

PPS, I _do _know where my spacebar is. /kicks FFnet/ I saw a couple words a second ago that got glued together during the Word-to-Documents changeover, but now I've lost them, and I can't find it anymore. Whoever does, please to be informing this poor sap of a KH-author?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sora liked bowling, most of the time, but tonight he was feeling restless. He needed to go to the bathroom, but there was no way he was using the public ones at the bowling alley. The size of the mirrors in there freaked him – Sora didn't like mirrors. In fact, he was pretty sure he hated their reflective fucking guts.

So he stayed sitting where he was, filling out his score sheet with a frown, fiddling with the pen, but not particularly concerned – it was, after all, just one factor of his faint but persistent agitation. It was just that… something had been a little off all night, and no section of his mind was eager to figure out why. He tried to focus on the game, keep his head in the right place.

All around him, the late session was taking place. The families were long gone, replaced with groups of mostly young people, the diner distributing beer to the patrons at five bucks a cup, revelry high, voices loud. Sora had his own cup sitting next to him, toyed with and sipped at, but no particular interest shown in it, bought because it was there and he could, and everyone else was. It was important for him to emulate them, in order to gain the same enjoyment they were all getting. Sure, he didn't have the whole 'group fun' thing going on, he was here all on his lonesome and in no hurry to correct that, but he was sure that if he just acted _enough_ like everyone else, he'd be back to having a good time, like he normally did.

He hated this squirming feeling.

There was something nagging at him, and it was bothersome. Anything that strayed from the usual was a source of irritation to Sora, and the fact that he wasn't having as much fun as he regularly did was beginning to set his teeth on edge. He didn't _want _to feel restless, he just wanted to have a good time, and that really didn't seem like such a huge request.

Scowling, sighing, he stomped his sneakers to the ground and stood, grabbing up his ball as it came rolling through the wire channel, warm and buzzing with static electricity. As he approached his lane, he wondered if it was _bowling _that was the problem. Maybe bowling just wasn't entertaining enough. Maybe he needed something that would better absorb his mind – bowling by himself was only giving him time to think, and thinking was something Sora just didn't want to embark on. It was an activity that belonged to other people, deeper people – Sora didn't want to be deep. He wanted to be shallow. Empty, hollow and light.

A face kept floating up into his mind, though, with blond hair and blue eyes, a face he was sure he'd seen before, lately, maybe, distracting him. Along with visions of blond hair, he also started getting flickerings of silver, eyes that were oceanic and distant, and it was at this that he really started getting unsettled. He just – he didn't want to think. Whatever the hell was flashing through his mind – he actively acknowledged that he wasn't interested in probing at it. It needed to be got rid of.

He scored a strike, the pins scattering and bouncing, being scraped away and replaced, and Sora moodily returned to his score sheet, scribbled it down as the TV screen over his lane recorded it with some artificial fireworks going off. He picked up his cup, took another mouthful of beer, grimaced at the cheap taste of it – they were sure as hell making a profit.

Nearby, someone else got a strike as well, a fanfare sounding from their TV scoreboard, and Sora sighed. He looked around, eyes skating over faces, clothing, cheer, feeling awkward and out of place. Why the hell was everyone having a good time but him? He lamented afresh his inability to be able to just get _drunk._ Maybe he should have stuck to the clubs tonight – maybe his body had had the right idea, going there even though his mind had been against it. He just – he needed to keep _moving._ He didn't think bowling was covering the urge enough. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, he hadn't tried it for a while, and the loud music pouring out of the doors had been attractive… but his thoughts were coming through too clear. His mind needed dampening.

That's when the lights all went off.

Sora gasped, shrieks and laughter erupting on all sides, all eyes automatically rising to the ceiling, where the black lights flickered to life, suddenly turning the world into shades of deep bruise and neon white. The energy in the air upped a little, the talking growing louder, music turned up, and Sora grappled with the fact that it felt like his heart was splitting in two. He staggered back to his chair, leaned over his table and pressed his hands hard into his chest, mouth open, small, distressed grunts slipping from his throat. His teeth found his bottom lip, pressed hard, almost hard enough to cut, eyes squeezing shut as he bent his head and struggled to bring himself under control. It was like someone had taken a hot needle and thrust it in there, a poker, an ice-pick. There was a stab, sharper than before, and a low cry popped from his mouth, lower lip glistening with saliva.

All sound, every noise, swirled, grew an echo, crashed in the background, rising and falling like the ocean smashing into rocks. Sora lowered his head to the table, fought to breathe, another white-hot bolt piercing his chest, teeth grinding fiercely as he tried, tried so hard, to ride it out.

Someone touched him, his head swivelling sharply, eyes wide, to find a face peering concernedly into his. "Are you alright?" the owner of the face asked, eyebrows knitted with worry. "I saw you fall…" His voice was so loud. Sora wanted to ask him to not yell. Then, in direct contrast, the next time the owner of the face spoke, Sora couldn't hear him at all. His eyes were fixed on the stranger's mouth, seeing the consonants and vowels forming, the world suddenly as silent as a tomb. Pain tore him apart, made him sweat and prickle, dying inside. His eyes started slipping shut, panic sparking in the expression of the owner of the face, but as the stranger pulled away, started looking around for help, Sora abruptly stood. He gripped the table, keeping himself steady as his shaking legs threatened to let him fall.

"I'm okay," he lied, feeling the vibrations of noise in his throat, though his ears picked up none of it, instead filled with a vague thumping. Before the person could try and convince him otherwise, Sora was walking away. It took every ounce, every single little scrap of his will to not collapse. Desperation fuelled him, led him wobbling out of the bowling alley and down the pavement. Why, _why _couldn't he just find one place and stick to it? Why, these days, did he always end up wandering the night?

The only thing he was sure of was that he couldn't get caught. It had been a close one with the owner of the face – if anyone knew how much he was hurting, they might try to take him away, place him into hospital, and that just _wouldn't work. _He couldn't go, couldn't let them do it. It was impossible, it was his worst nightmare. If they grabbed him, drove him away, locked him up – he'd never see the lights of Traverse Town again. He was sure of it. He _knew_.

The thought was terrifying. As he heard the doors of the bowling alley open a few meters behind him, voices bursting out into the fresh air, he was afraid that it was the owner of the face coming to play out his good Samaritan role. Without pausing to look back, Sora began to run. Never mind that it hurt him to breathe, that the pains were far from gone – his fear was stronger. This was stronger even than his paranoia, sent him sprinting down lonely streets without hesitation, pushing himself, going as fast as he could, racing against time and nothing and everything, not stopping until he collapsed in a park, gasping terribly, the green grass short and itchy

For a while, he lay there and sweated, muscles jellied, head swinging and pulsing in time to his erratic, irregular heartbeat.

Nearby, a party was going on, he could hear it, could hear again, could hear the voices floating merrily on the wind. Forcing his eyes open, he rolled over clumsily, automatically wondering dimly if it was somewhere he could dance and lose himself, never mind the fact that he didn't even have a hope of standing. In the distance, he saw a massive white tent set up, a solid-looking marquee, light shining through the canvas flaps, black vases of white lilies sitting at the entranceway.

Sora's voice rang out in a thin cry as pain ripped through his body, fresh and without warning, a weight on his chest, a fist around his heart. Blue eyes, blond, spiky hair, long, silver hair, red hair, tattoos, green eyes like poison, all of it flashed through his head, images bursting into bloody being with every rammed blast of agony. He choked, lips pulling back tight, teeth bared to the moon, whimpers and misery floating into the air, unheard by any of the party-goers, lost in their own happy world.

His mind was returning. Doubtless he'd awaken very soon.

"What're you listening to?"

Roxas turned a page in his book slowly, legs crossed awkwardly in the small space between his seat and the one in front. Over his head, he'd opened the small, circular air-conditioning vent, twisted it to blow down and gently ruffle his spikes, adding some breathability to the dryness inside the plane. In his free hand he held a bottle of water, sipping at it constantly, battling the raging headaches the dehydration always gave him during these long flights.

The question had been breathed into his right ear, its owner mindful of the dim lights within the cabin, the darkness and stars through the window, the little pillows and blankets most of their fellow fliers were huddled against the nearest upright surface with.

"Sinatra," the blond murmured, eyes travelling slowly over the printed words. Fingers traced his arm idly, a chin placed on his shoulder, a pleasant weight.

"Hm. Soothing," the owner of the voice and question observed. Roxas inclined his head faintly.

"Can be."

There was a hovering pause, before a gentle kiss was placed upon his cheekbone. Blue eyes fluttered shut, a small sigh working its way out of his lungs and into the atmosphere.

"I love you, you know."

Roxas knew. He found it comforting, and confusing. He'd never been particularly certain as to _why _the owner of the voice felt anything for him – he'd initially supposed that it was based entirely on looks and lust. Roxas was beautiful, and had a slight delicacy about him, all belied by the darker interior it obscured; he could understand how that would be appealing to a man such as the owner of the voice. There was something in the redhead that always hungered, something insatiable, hot and fierce, underlain by a cockiness of spirit that suggested he got precisely _what _he wanted, _when _he wanted it.

But this whole… _'love'_ aspect… it was deep and bewildering, and all too real. It had become a blanket under which Roxas could hide. It was cool, smooth, gossamer. It never smothered, even as it slipped along and against his body, fitting into every mould and dip of his flesh, coating his face like a shroud. He used it to protect himself, as best as he could, and somehow, it managed to warm him.

Roxas would never say that phrase of confession the way the owner so often did. He would never lower himself to that vulnerable level, and doubted even that he was capable of feeling it. He wasn't allowed to. But it made him happy to know that someone else was feeling it about _him,_ even as it depressed him horribly to know it existed.

When he started thinking about love… loss was never far behind.

He looked sideways, into vividly green eyes, and wondered about what would happen to this man's heart if ever Roxas was gone, if ever _he_ was the one forced to feel such acute loss.

"I feel so cold right now," he whispered, and the sparkle in the owner of the voice's gaze dimmed. If the owner was capable of warming a soul, then it was Roxas that contained the ability to chill it. In his ears, smooth whisky and smoke poured from the throat of another owner of a different voice. Yes, Sinatra was soothing. Or had been. Up until Roxas had started thinking, at the advent of those affectionate words.

Sometimes, he thought it would be better if he never thought at all. Life would be so easy.

He was tugged, unresisting, into an embrace, lips on his ear, the touch of skin hot. "Then turn off your air-con," the owner muttered. "I'll warm you up."

Slowly, the blond shook his head. "I won't be able to breathe properly if I do that. The cold is helping me breathe."

Neither one of them was sure if he was referring to the outer cold, or the inner. Neither one dared to address it.

Hayner left for work early, leaving Roxas sleeping on the couch, not bothering to poke him awake even to demand that the blond cook breakfast in payment for the makeshift bed, like he often argued and attempted. Roxas, as a result, woke up to an empty apartment, stillness hanging in the air, a bleakness left over from the night before.

Hayner hadn't spoken to him since agreeing to let him stay; it was obvious that the taller of the two was disgusted with him, but Roxas was wearily aware that none of it was really to do with him at all. Whatever had set Hayner off the day before had created a viciousness that would be in residence the next few days. He could handle it well enough; he'd done it before, and no doubt he'd do it again, just as Hayner would inevitably end up nursing Roxas through more gray patches in the future. It just sucked that the two crappy periods had occurred so close together, and in amongst… _other_ troubles. They needed to learn to schedule these things around each other.

Sitting up, fingers digging into the worn fabric of the sofa, Roxas swung himself around, feet hitting the floor, a bone-tired yawn working its shuddering way through his frame. Aerith had, naturally, given him the day off, after his idiotic performance yesterday at the church. He might as well have been some swooning damsel in distress, for all the way he'd fallen straight into Hayner's arms like that. He could have at _least_ been manly enough to cut himself on the bitumen, maybe get a little concussed or something. As things stood, he just looked humiliatingly weak. And… to think that the red-haired guy might have been _watching…_

Roxas' neck prickled, a hand reaching up to smooth the skin uncomfortably. He felt safe here, at least. He could probably put up with a thousand days of Hayner's bad moods, if it meant he didn't have to be jumping at every little noise. This whole thing – it was really starting to strip his nerves, thread by thread. To have someone come up to him out of the blue like that, a perfect stranger, and say, _'I think someone might be following you'… _It was just – kind of unthinkable. It made Roxas' mind go blank with incomprehension, disbelief – especially since he still didn't even know what the hell the guy wanted from him. Or how he knew him. Because Roxas had absolutely no recollection of his existence, and he was pretty fucking sure that on any day of the year he would remember a guy like that. The intensity of his eyes alone was enough to sear its way onto your cerebral cortex.

This thing of staying at Hayner's place – it was a patch-fix at best, but it was enough until Roxas at least felt more up to the task of tackling his very own personal stalker. Just a few days of strength-gathering would be enough.

He'd tell Hayner about it once he was out of his funk – then he'd have some backup when the confrontation came. It was a flimsy sort of plan, but the best that Roxas could come up with without seriously considering the thought of reporting it to the cops. That was the sensible option, he knew, but as things stood, he still didn't really have anything to report. He needed something solid – needed some _proof._ He dreaded to think what that encompassed, but he wasn't prepared to just wander in and start spouting off with nothing to back up his claims.

Of course, there was always his hand, the bruises fading now… but still, Roxas was wary. The last thing he wanted to do was blow it all out of proportion, when the guy might only need to be scared off by a couple of pissed blonds with baseball bats. He'd even bring Pence along for the ride – hell, if he really felt the need, he'd consider _Seifer. _The guy was a bastard, but he'd proven with Olette that he at least wasn't _totally _heartless, and Roxas didn't have so much pride that he'd turn down an extra set of muscle.

That would take care of it, he was sure. He just had to wait for Hayner to snap back to himself, discuss it with everyone, and then go on the initiative.

In the meantime – Roxas didn't think he'd be going home again. It twisted at him to admit it, but he was too uneasy to be there by himself. After having fallen asleep so easily here in Hayner's apartment, the thought of curling up with the window rod just – it _really _didn't appeal. There was no need for it. If Hayner knew the truth, he wouldn't kick him out, even in the throes of the worst of his moods. Roxas had a – a _place_ here. It kind of epitomised the friendship, that, even when everything was going to shit internally, Hayner wouldn't hesitate to let him stay. It gave him a little warmth inside.

Still, he thought, glancing around the apartment, if he was going to stay for several days, he'd need to make just one visit. He needed clothes, toothbrush, shaving materials – food, considering that Hayner subsisted mainly on cigarettes and pop-tarts, along with whatever Roxas could be bothered hauling out of the mostly-ignored freezer. It didn't thrill him, the thought of going home, but at least it would be during daylight hours. Day, he could handle – it was the nights that had him worried.

Drawing a breath, he finally got up, deliberation done with, grabbed a handful of trail mix from the blue bowl and fed it from his fist into his open mouth, calling it breakfast. Digging his outfit from the other day out of the bottom drawer in Hayner's room, he quickly showered, put the old-sweat clothing on, which was at least better than the yesterday's-sweat items that he'd slept in, making a mental note to take them all down to the laundry room once he found some nice, shiny quarters. He went back to the couch, bent low and hooked his flip-flops out from under the coffee table, slid them on, the hard foam snapping against his soles as he made for the front door. Quickly checking that he still had the key to get back in, he nodded to himself, closed the door, headed downstairs and out onto the road at a shuffling jog.

Well, the rest of life might have been jumping all over the place, but Roxas knew he could always count on the sun to be hot as hell. It was just as brutal as ever, stepping outside just as deadly, the star deciding not to take pity on poor, melting Twilight Town. He slowed down after only half a block, already panting at the small amount of exertion, walked the rest of the way to the tram common, catching hold of the vehicle as it went rumbling by on its tracks and swinging himself up and in.

Throwing himself down into the nearest seat, Roxas slouched, feeling as if he'd sprinted halfway home rather than having come just ten minutes from Hayner's. He was glad he'd had the shower – doing this with a layer of grime pre-laid on his skin would have been _foul. _It was brilliant, the way regular old life managed to suck just as hard as its more complicated aspects.

Crossing an ankle over one knee, Roxas propped an elbow up on the empty seat next to his, listening to the chatter of a nearby little girl sitting on her mother's lap, a series of shopping bags surrounding them. The female duo got off at the next stop, carrying their bags, the kid cheerfully carrying her very own striped-pink one. It looked like a candy-bag. The rest of the trip was quiet, unbroken.

As his stop approached, Roxas hauled himself up, yanked on the looping cord that lined the ceiling, a small bell jangling up with the operator. The metal behemoth paused, silence falling over the world as Roxas jumped down, flip-flops slapping the pavement, before it started up again in its steady, click-clacking monotone, and vanished around the corner.

Sniffing, wiping his face tiredly, feeling a little sick from the heat, the blond made his way up the hill, thigh muscles complaining unreasonably at the workout. "Oh, come on," he muttered to himself, taking on the worst of the peak, "it's not like Aerith doesn't work us harder than this." He crested the hill, continued on for several meters, turned right into the short alleyway running alongside the building, entered the tucked-away door. It was cooler inside, a breath of relief from the sweltering quality of the outdoors, the sun's rays unable to reach him in the stairwell.

Roxas took the steps at a steady pace, ran a hand through his hair as he walked along his floor, glancing around watchfully. The place was empty, so far, and there was nowhere for any redheaded weirdos to be hiding out, waiting to lunge. Mollified, he pulled out his keys, unlocked the door, pushed it open and entered the apartment.

Everything looked much the same as he'd left it, nothing out of place to suggest that anyone had been rummaging while he was gone. The white window-rod, when he checked, was still in its secure position behind the door. He hooked it up, swung it from hand to hand, performing a cautious check on each room in turn, all but sniffing the air to check for anything foreign.

After a few potentially tense minutes, he called the search to a halt. Relief trickled through his unhappy nerves, kissing them better for the first time in days – the place hadn't been invaded while he was away. It was a boost, knowing that headquarters had yet to be breached by the crazy. It kind of made him want to stay, almost… but, gazing around, feeling the isolation of the place, he realised he still wasn't confident about being alone. Not yet – not even when it was untouched like this. It would still be worth his while shacking up with Hayner until it all blew over.

With this in mind, he set about gathering supplies for the days to come, pulling his excursion pack from under the bed and emptying it out, replacing its contents with more everyday items. He pulled open the bedside drawer, swept out a handful of shirts and shorts, folded them, along with several pairs of boxers, neatly, efficiently into the bag. He went into the bathroom, gathered together all his toiletries, returned to the bed and shoved them into the gaps between the clothing. Unzipping the black backpack all the way, folding down its front and punching it to stretch the material, he dropped it just outside the doorway, left it there as he trailed into the kitchen, swinging the window-rod thoughtfully as he eyed off the various boxes of cereal sitting in an uneven line along the counter. Two of them, and only two, would be able to fit into the bag. For someone that didn't eat a lot of breakfast, Roxas, much like Hayner, had mastered the art of owning mostly breakfast foods – although the shorter blond, at least, also had his fair share of perishables stowed away inside the refrigerator.

After a short deliberation, he placed the metal pole on the counter, grabbed a box in each hand, one cereal made of wheat, the other made of corn, and shook them idly as he carried them out to squeeze in on top of all his other stuff.

"If it isn't the delivery boy."

Roxas yelled, the boxes jumping in his grasp, clutched them tight to his chest and whirled with deep, loathing recognition.

Today, there was none of the cockiness, none of the smirk and swagger. The redhead stood with his arms by his sides, the same black, wrinkled jeans, a white t-shirt. His hair was as wild as ever, but his face, in stark contrast, was serious. Roxas stared.

"I've gotta commend you, Rox, you might have left everything behind, but you've still got the instincts," the man said casually. "You haven't been properly alone since I saw you the other night. Not at work. Not in Traverse." Green eyes flashed, darkened. "You didn't even come home last night."

The blond, heart speeding, head light with shock and slow, dull panic, eyelids fluttering, strangled out, "Ho – how – how do you kn-know where I live?"

A short, mirthless laugh, the smile on his face twisted, almost scornful. "I looked you the fuck _up, _of course." His expression hardened. "It's not like it's hard to do. I was willing to give you a little privacy, not just come barging in like this, but _shit, _Roxas – it's not like you gave me a choice." Bitterness appeared. "After that little stunt the other night, I figured it was time for the mountain to come to Mohammed, you know?"

There was no escape. The redhead was standing in the path to the door, deliberately blocking the way. He was slender, but strong looking, corded muscles obvious under the short sleeves of his shirt. Roxas could only gaze at him, mind spinning for a solution.

The window-rod was in the kitchen. He swallowed with the realisation; it wasn't on hand, but it was _close. _All he had to do was ditch the cereal boxes at his head, make a run for it…

The man took a breath, hands rising to his hips, elbows bowing out behind him as he dipped his head, took a noisy breath and puffed out his cheeks. "I've been given these icky orders," he confessed idly, "to bring you back or kill you."

Roxas turned to ice, the breath stopping in his chest. Every part of him froze, eyes going round. Green eyes turned up, watching him from under scarlet brows. The blond's heart erupted several beats later, fear flooding sharply through every vein, making him gasp deeply just to try and get enough oxygen to fuel it.

_Kill you. _

The guy – wanted to kill him? Roxas' mind latched onto those shocking words, stripped them to pieces, found their raw intention and nearly made him sick with the realisation that he was trapped in his apartment with someone that wanted to _kill him._

This was going to require more than a couple of blonds with baseball bats.

"I know you've had fun playing pretend with all your little buddies," the man continued, waving a hand lightly, sounding, of all things, like he was trying to be reasonable, "but Roxas, remember who your _real _friends are."

Blue eyes narrowed. "Who _are _you?" he demanded tightly.

The guy jerked, eyebrows knitting together, staring for a long, silent moment, before lowering his gaze to the side, sadness sharp in his features. "So, it really _is _true." He sighed deeply, muttered, "You really don't remember."

"…I don't even know," Roxas attempted urgently, "what you're talking about."

Tongue coming out to lick thin lips, the redhead nibbled the inside of his mouth, nodded shortly, resentfully, eyes averted. "Yeah. I got that." Green irises flashed up, new coldness within their depths. "In that case… I guess I'll just take you as you are. We can… figure out what's wrong with your head once we get you home."

Roxas shook his head slowly from side to side, the redhead nodding just as gradually in answer.

"I've been looking for you too long, Rox." There was something raw in that statement, something that was echoed in his eyes, and it was this that snapped Roxas.

He swung back and hurled the first box, all cardboard corners backed up by two pounds of Cornflakes, knocked aside with a shout of displeasure, followed a moment later by the second, squatter box, bursting open as it slammed into his arm, sending a storm of crumbled wheat fluttering through the air. The redhead was annoyed, was waiting with arms already open for Roxas to come bolting past, blinking as, instead, the blond lunged for the kitchen entrance, disappeared behind the wall.

Roxas heard him growl, an irritated sound as he came stalking in his wake. He reached for the window-rod, snatched it off the counter, clutched it vertical to his body, shoulders hunching with his back to the doorway as the man entered.

Heart thundering, gasping in a breath, Roxas twisted when he knew the redhead was close, and slashed with every pent-up ounce of strength. With a yell, the man leapt back, stomach sucking in as it blew diagonally down his body, avoiding the sharp, sawn-off metal edge by millimetres. Roxas followed, swung hard at his head, the redhead dodging to the side, cursing viciously as the blond kept coming.

Hands sliding towards the ends, Roxas wielded his weapon desperately, ramming it after him, slashing again and again, always missing by only the slightest amount as the man danced and twisted, face contorted furiously as he fought to remain out of reach.

He hit the couch abruptly, Roxas homing in, ready to drive the pole straight down into his exposed chest, all thought gone, the world a white haze of sweat and effort, panic electric in the background.

Then long-fingered hands darted out, wrapped around Roxas' grip on the rod, pale, tattooed face arching up, snorting through clenched teeth, and in the next instant the blond was stumbling backwards. The redhead threw himself forward, crushing Roxas' hands onto the bar, the pair of them staggering before slamming into the wall.

Roxas was on the back foot almost instantly, the metal digging across his shoulders, fingers trapped against his chest, blue eyes meeting green for the briefest of seconds before the blond brought his knees up with savage force.

The redhead had anticipated.

He stepped sharply back, Roxas losing every ounce of momentum and strength, meeting nothing by air where his kneecaps should have been stabbing into flesh. Rage flashed in the other's eyes, he reared back, tore the window-rod free of Roxas' futile grasp, and in the next heartbeat, he slammed the sharp edge into the blond's face.

Roxas stumbled sideways, fell soundlessly to the ground, thumping hard.

Heavy breaths filled the air, both chests heaving, Roxas lying awkwardly, face pressed on its side into the threadbare carpet. His hand was trapped beneath him, aching, one knee still supporting his weight, not quite completely collapsed. Behind him, he heard the red-haired attacker suddenly draw a deep, sharp breath, and let out a noise of despair.

Turning his head slowly, painfully, Roxas swivelled his gaze numbly back over his shoulder. The man was looking absolutely stricken, the window-rod clutched hard against his chest. "Roxas… I'm sorry."

The blond said nothing. Blood was slow to rise to the pale slash along his cheekbone.

"I'm so… so… _sorry. _Oh, God."

Bending low, the redhead slowly placed the bar down, got onto one knee, a hand touching the ground, eyes impossibly wide, expression stripped bare, agonised. Roxas forced himself onto his back as the man started crawling towards him, long arms and legs moving hesitantly over the carpet. Drawing a broken breath, the blond tried to back away, tried to worm out of reach, too stunned, too dazed, to get to his feet yet and run.

"I'm sorry, Roxas. _I love you so much."_ So much pained feeling in those words. His expression grew cautious as he climbed Roxas' body, waiting to see if the blond would fight, but the fight was gone, it was over. Roxas choked, eyes squeezing shut as the redhead gradually eclipsed him, limbs forming a raised prison around his helpless figure, nowhere left to go.

"I didn't want – I didn't mean to hurt you…" Lips beside his ear, words distressed, fearful, before a careful, urgent kiss was placed upon his left temple. "Please, please forgive me. Oh, Roxas, I'm _sorry."_ He pressed his nose into the side of the boy's face, Roxas letting out a cracked noise and turning his face an inch away, even as another kiss was bestowed upon his forehead. Sensing the inevitable next step, the blond weakly lifted a hand, pushing against the sternum hovering over his own. He deterred nothing.

Warm lips sought him out, sealed his own, an anxious, desperate kiss. He couldn't fight, couldn't stop it, eyes opening to find green irises boring down, before the redhead closed them, brought his hands up to wind into blond spikes, pulling away with a soft pop. "I'll remind you," he promised in a whisper, and joined them once again, tongue pressing down gently.

And Roxas – Roxas was kissing back. Tentatively, uncertainly, fuelling the redhead, whose grip on him tightened, intensity rising as he took this as agreement, encouragement. His weight pressed onto Roxas as he lowered himself from his high position, tongue becoming more insistent, tangling with the blond's own, the breathy, damp sound of their kisses filling the apartment's stillness.

A thumb circled Roxas' hip, found the blond's downward-creeping hand and caught his fingers, squeezing firmly. Roxas sighed shakily as teeth grazed his bottom lip. Blood welled in the gash on his cheek, trickled slowly, tear-like. The redhead felt the dampness, pulled back momentarily to view the calamity, whined unhappily and returned to kiss Roxas more fiercely, forcing every ounce of apology into it as he could, so frantic for forgiveness.

Roxas returned the fervour shakily, obviously uncertain, but willingly going along with it, facing heating up as those fingers stroked at his stomach now, infinite in their softness. Shifting up along him, finding a more comfortable position, the redhead rubbed a thumb through his hair tenderly, shifting his attention around to the uninjured side of Roxas' face, blue eyes blinking at the wall through a haze of sweat, hand dipping into the pocket of his shorts.

"I've missed the way your skin tastes," the man muttered, bringing a shiver through the blond's muscles, before dragging his tongue along the length of his face, from jaw to temple. Roxas bit his bottom lip tightly, eyes shutting as his fingers touched something small, cold, hard.

"_I've missed you so much," _came the urgent whisper, before their hips were pressed together, trapping Roxas' hand, making him moan feebly, breaths speeding up, a low whimper escaping his lips. He wrapped a leg awkwardly around the one pressing between his legs, felt the redhead's chest hitch as he wriggled his hand free. Bolts of pleasant sensation stabbed through the blond as the man shifted deliberately on top of him. Roxas' fingers slowly rotated the canister in his palm, finding the tip.

His lips parted as the redhead, brow creased almost into a scowl, scraped his teeth lightly down his throat. His free hand came up, twisted into a handful of crimson, spiking hair, holding the man's face against his collar, shuddering as he nibbled at the flesh there.

"I don't… even know…" Roxas gasped out, "your _name."_

The redhead paused, looked up at the boy's squeezed-shut eyes, chin twisted away to the side. "It's me," he said helplessly. "Axel."

Roxas lifted the capsicum spray, pumped down on the nozzle, and let loose a stream of liquid agony straight into the man's upturned face.

The reaction was instantaneous. Axel reared back with a roar, quickly growing shrill as he clawed at his face, staggering to his feet, slamming into the wall as Roxas, choking and coughing from the excess, scrambled up. He covered his mouth and nose with a forearm, eyes red and streaming, while the redhead screamed and dropped back to his knees.

Out of his other pocket, Roxas fumblingly retrieved the almond oil, poured it onto his right hand, darted in near the man and dug it through to his skin, smearing the fluid liberally onto his flesh, sealing the chemical against him. Hands flew out, nails like talons, the redhead dragging down at him, coughing violently, gagging, face an ugly, swollen, inflamed mess.

Roxas drew back, lifted a bare foot, and slammed it straight into his forehead. Holding his breath, the spicy air suffocating, eyes red and streaming, the blond scuttled around his blind victim, snatching his backpack from next the wall, steps thundering past the agonised, thinly wailing man.

He exploded out into the hallway, stumbled along and down the stairs, slipping and tripping, snatching at the handrail desperately.

Shoving a shoulder into the building's door, he slammed out into the alleyway, fled out into the sunshine, and sprinted down the hill, back towards the tram, soles burning with every step.

Nearby, a pair of eyes watched the blond flee, with a fairly good idea of what had transpired.

Dressed heavily despite the weather, sweltering as he stood within what shadows he could find, the figure turned his gaze up Roxas' building, seeking out one particular street-facing window, staring at it for several long, thought-filled minutes.

Then, slowly, he turned, and vanished down between the split between two buildings, boots sounding out heavily across the pavement.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Whoo, we finally breached a hundred pages! All sorts of awesome. I'mma go sleep for a thousand years now in celebration. Next up, a couple days to work on collabs, then moving on into MaH territory.

And a happy birthday to my darling Decorinne :)

CHAPTER NINE

It was cold. There was ice on the streets, snow on the bare arms of the trees, frost coating the dead and dying gardens that Roxas trudged wearily past. The thick treads of his boots crunched quietly along the pavement, the ragged ends of his scarf spinning weakly in the wind. His head was lowered, frown directed at the pavement as he walked, hands deep in the pockets of his heavy overcoat to keep warm, the skin of his knuckles chapped from winter's bitterness. The day was clear, a cleanliness to the air, though his insides felt charred.

He turned left into the pharmacy as he reached it, mounted the short ramp that led up to the store, pausing briefly to kick his hard toes against the side of the building, dislodging the small stones and slush of the street. He entered the warmth, withdrawing his hands carefully, turning his collar down for the few minutes that he'd be there. It was a relief to not be frozen, though his nose continued to feel numb.

Sucking on dry lips, he joined the end of the queue to the prescriptions counter, unbuttoned his coat and reached into a pocket, pulling out the sheets of paper the woman with the white-blonde hair had left with him. She had seemed nice, until she printed these out and handed them over, the ink letters spelling out his troubles for all the world to see.

Antidepressants. Antipsychotics. Long, ridiculous names that he couldn't hope to pronounce at a glance. They had spent over an hour sitting across from each other, silent, with Roxas staring stonily at the window, before she had typed on her computer and run the scripts out with an order to get them filled. Evidently, she hadn't needed Roxas to say a word to diagnose him; evidently, she'd been speaking to someone else.

It wasn't going to change anything. He knew this intrinsically; they could feed him whatever the hell pills they wanted, they could stand over him and make sure he didn't hurl them back up or flush them down, and nothing would be any different.

The owner of the voice had wanted to come with him for this, had wanted to make some show of support, but Roxas was having nothing of it. No fucking way. Not when he'd been talking to that _bitch. _Roxas was acting as if the owner of the voice didn't exist, and it suited him just fine.

It was his turn at the front of the queue, the pharmacist regarding him pleasantly. Expressionlessly, Roxas handed over his prescriptions, and thought about the fact that, if he so chose, he could annihilate everyone in the store and never hear another word about it. He turned, nodded slightly in acknowledgement as the woman estimated a ten-minute wait, and, hands back in pockets, found a chair to sit on.

Only about a minute went by before the empty seat beside him was taken up, a boy Roxas' age settling down, elbows on the hard arms, fingers laced together. He accidentally bumped the blond, who shifted, crossed his arms, before getting bumped a second time. Blue eyes sliced sideways, narrow and hard, before a slackness fell over him.

"Oh," he said.

The boy, if he heard Roxas, didn't assume that the utterance was for his benefit. He gazed around disinterestedly at the store, tapping a finger against his knuckles, as if he, too, were waiting for the chemist to call his name and hand over his medications. Roxas was tempted to touch his arm, draw his attention, and ask what, if anything, he had been prescribed. He wanted to ask what he was _here _for.

In the end, he just didn't have the nerve, though.

He and the boy spent the following eight minutes sitting together in silence, Roxas growing steadily tenser, nerves pulling tight, teeth gritting into one another until he could hear the squeak of them in his skull. He wondered if the boy heard, too, if he noticed and filed it away. He already knew so much about Roxas. He knew so much that it hurt the blond to know he existed.

His name was called, ringing clearly through the store. Even if, by some miraculously oblivious coincidence, the boy hadn't previously realised who he was sitting next to, there was absolutely no doubt that he would now. Still, he didn't even glance sideways at the blond, continued to sit there with a mild expression and twiddle his thumbs in a parody of patience.

Perhaps he was sending Roxas a message. Perhaps his patience was deliberate, he needed no words, he was silently indicating, _I'm waiting, you know, and I'll continue to wait._

_Say 'yes', Roxas._

"No," the blond muttered, and climbed to his feet. He received an odd look from an elderly man standing nearby, but ignored it, approached the counter and paid for his medicines. He bought a bottle of water at the same time, warmed to room temperature, and carried it and the white paper bag out to the front of the store.

He walked several paces along, then stopped, tucked the water under his arm and ripped away the tape holding the bag shut, opened it to pull the boxes out. He stared at the instructions that had been stuck to the front of each, glancing between them. He turned as someone came out of the store, but it was no one familiar, the boy was still in there, probably still sitting there, knowing that Roxas knew he hadn't moved.

This was… getting out of hand.

Roxas tucked the boxes away slowly, walked home again, following the familiar streets, climbing the salted metal steps to the home he shared with the owner of the voice. He entered the kitchen, the apartment empty, the owner elsewhere, and poured the bought water into a glass. It was already cold, just from ten minutes outside. The blond took out the foils of pills, carefully ejected them onto the counter, the same number that the directions told him to, and swallowed them one by one, chased by mouthfuls of fluid. He left the boxes where he'd placed them, knowing that the owner of the voice would demand to see them, to see evidence that he was doing as he should.

Then Roxas went to the bedroom, got out his favourite belt, and took it to the closet. He felt calmer with his fingers tracing the stitches, wrapped it around the long bar, cinched it, and started pulling to test it. He wrenched hard. He put a foot on the wall, and heaved back, not trusting the metal to be firm enough.

True enough, it came clean out of the wall, clattering and banging, bringing chunks of plaster, the blond thumping to the floor at the sudden give. The air was dusty, the bar wedged against the door, the belt still tight around it.

Roxas sighed, on his back, staring at the ceiling. He wheezed in the particles of plaster, coughed.

"Shit."

He'd have to tell the owner of the voice that he'd been trying chin-ups again.

Six pm. The sun was mostly set, still sending a glow across the horizon; within Hayner's apartment, though, everything was dark. Roxas sat on the couch, muscles loose, relaxed. Blue eyes saw only dim shapes within the stillness, outlines of walls and furniture. All else was gloom.

He felt pain; he knew he was feeling pain. The left side of his face, the entirety of his head, pounded gently with it. He recognised this. There was blood on his face, it had dripped from his jaw onto his shirt, some of it forming trails down the side of his throat, dry now. The cut was deep; he recognised this, also.

Much like the pain, though, this was distant.

He was content to just keep sitting, listening to the soft patter of quick footsteps, as an unseen stranger crept around the apartment, like a dog someone had forgotten to shut away. At one point he heard the crack and shatter of a bottle being fumbled in the kitchen, but didn't bother to investigate.

He just didn't fucking care.

There was a scratching at the door, the sound of someone working at the locks, and this, this caught his attention for the first time all afternoon. His head swivelled around, eyes staring blindly, hearing a voice utter a curse as the owner of the scratching realised that the deadlock had been engaged. There was further noise, a metallic click, before the handle wrenched around, illumination pouring in from an outside, artificial source.

Roxas twisted around onto his knees, the trail mix bowl cold in his hands, his lap numb from where the heavy object had been sitting for the past six hours. As a hand entered the apartment, aiming for the light switch, the blond hefted the object, drew it carefully back and, as the apartment winked to life, threw with all his might.

The heavy glass bowl smashed into the wall just above the switch, a large, jagged piece flying off, putting a deep puncture in the plaster before dropping to the ground, where it split apart into three further pieces with a scattering of a thousand smaller shards exploding outward with the fruit and nuts.

Roxas stared dully, on his feet now, arms dangling by his sides, waiting for the owner of the scratching to reveal himself.

After several beats, Hayner's face appeared cautiously around the door, from where he'd instantly ducked back, shouting his fright. Hazel eyes sought out blue, and for a long moment, they just looked at each other.

"…Oh," said Roxas dispassionately, at last. "It's you."

He turned his back on the taller blond, who blinked for a breathless moment before slowly entering the apartment, sneakers nudging the bowl's wreckage, gaze lowering to it with incomprehension.

He closed the door, eyes next going to the hole in the wall, a cracked concave of white and wood, struts and silver insulation visible, disbelief crawling over his features. He twisted to look at the other blond, lips parting with a desire to speak, nothing springing to mind for a stretching minute.

Roxas just… stood there. With his back to him. He didn't even try to walk away – he was just – denying Hayner's existence.

"_Roxas," _Hayner managed at last, voice almost inaudibly soft, "what are you doing?" The blond didn't respond, didn't even twitch, and with that, Hayner's bubbling, day-old resentment exploded. He lunged across the space between them, rubber soles crunching on the debris, snatched Roxas' upper arm and swung him around, the spike-haired blond, for his part, completely unresisting.

"_What the hell are you doing?" _he roared, grabbing him by the flesh between neck and shoulders and _shaking, _shaking hard enough to make Roxas' head snap back and forth. "You could've _killed me, _you _bastard!" _

The sight of the blood filtered finally into Hayner's mind, unregistered prior to now, and he seized a handful of Roxas' hair, wrenched his face to the side. "Look at what you _did to yourself," _he hissed, expression contorted with rage both new and leftover, before pawing angrily at the red smears along his friend's cheek. He then paused sharply, eyes narrowing, face dropping from its twisted state into utter seriousness as he touched the blood again. "…It's dry," he uttered.

"Fuck it," Roxas contributed. "…Fuck _you,"_ was his afterthought. Hayner's expression changed slowly, crossing a variety of emotional ranges, before settling, with great despair, on bewilderment.

"What's going on, Roxas?" He gripped the blond's face more carefully now, inspecting the puckering wound slashing his cheek. A small exhalation of shock escaped him, fingers hovering over the white-edged valley in Roxas' flesh, not daring to touch. Blue eyes gazed, hooded, at the sliding door. He didn't bother to reply. Closing his eyes, Hayner shook his head. "No," he muttered. Then, more forcefully, _"No, _Roxas, you're not going to – _grey_ your way out of this, okay?" He turned Roxas to face him, anxiously trying to engage his attention. "Roxas… where did you get this cut?" Desperately, he gave the blond another shake, more gently this time, more urgently. "Why'd you shut down, man?"

Eyelids flickered, before the blue irises focused on him, as flat as they ever got during these periods. Roxas licked his lips, took a short breath, and muttered, "Red hair like whoa." Hayner stared. "Tattoos… not like a clown."

Hayner knew the words coming at him were his own, but showed no recognition of what they referred to. He searched Roxas' face for the answer, gaze falling on the way the blood had trailed so freely when it had still been wet. He then glanced around the apartment, as if something would leap out and indicate what the hell had happened, but from what he could tell, the most violence here had occurred when _he _arrived. He saw Roxas' overnight bag sitting next to the door, evidence that he'd been home at some point during the day.

_Oh. It's you. _

"Who else…?" Hayner stopped. Visions of a redheaded flirt burst into his mind, brief and flashing, that charming grin, followed by the question, _'Does he get sick often these days?' _Red hair like whoa, and tattoos under the eyes. No one Roxas knew; no one Hayner had thought about since. And yet, the guy had seemed to know Roxas. And now…

"Roxas," the tall blond said slowly, flattening his hands against the boy's jaw, "you need to tell me exactly how you got this cut." His eyes flicked over to it, studying with new perspective, and it occurred to him that it would be a difficult wound to self-inflict. In Struggle matches, people got hurt all the time; Hayner had seen his fair share of injuries, of cuts – this was looking like something you got stitched up after a particularly vicious opponent. Something you groused about afterwards, touching the sticking plaster with a wince, reflecting on just how much a bastard some guys could be.

"Red hair," Roxas said impassively, "like _whoa." _Then he struck up, breaking out of the monotony, "You know what, Hay? I don't even fucking care. Slice me to pieces. My body's made of _meat." _He jerked free before Hayner could stop him, walked away this time, around the couch, through to the kitchen, where a high, light sound started up, like the absolute upper reaches of a xylophone. Scowling suspiciously, Hayner followed – gaped from the doorway as Roxas carelessly stepped barefoot through broken glass and alcohol.

"Holy _shit, _Roxas!" He leapt forward, grabbed hold of the blond, who threw an elbow back into his gut, swung around with fire in his eyes and drove a fist into his face. Crying out, Roxas coming in for a second go, the taller blond seized his hand, twisted it sharply around behind his back, clamped an arm around his throat and held him immobile. In the state that he was, pain meaning little, Roxas continued to squirm, but his body had its own limitations it refused to let his mind cross. Hayner grunted, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to transfer his best friend back to the couch without letting up his grip or forcing him back over the glass, which already had traces of blood in amongst the half-bottle of vodka that had pooled across the tiles.

"You know," he choked out, face throbbing from the punch, something acerbic about Roxas' odour making his eyes water, "for someone that doesn't care about anything, you're fighting awfully hard, Rox!" He hissed in through his teeth. "And you sure as hell made a good go of trying to kill me when I first got here, and I _wasn't _who you were expecting." He tightened his grip fiercely around the blond's throat and demanded, "So who were you expecting, Rox? The guy with the red hair? The one that came to Aerith's looking for you that time?"

"I don't care!" Roxas snarled, struggling. "I don't _care!" _

"Holy shit," Hayner repeated. Shaking his head, he said tersely, "Don't you fight me again, Roxas, I've had enough of your shit. It was _my _turn to throw the tantrum, damn it." He grabbed the blond up, heaving him over one shoulder, turning even as the burden started thrashing and staggering away from the glass. As Roxas slipped further and further out of his grasp, he wrestled him into the bedroom, managed to throw him onto the mattress, blood smearing the coverlet. Roxas scrambled to his knees, eyes dark with engorged pupil, but, despite all, still wearing absolutely no facial indication of his mood. It was like he'd been wiped completely clean. Only his energy remained, black and crawling close to the skin, six- and eight-legged. Hayner looked at him helplessly, the blond's gaze boring unwaveringly back.

"That guy with the red hair came after you," Hayner stated, no longer questioning. "And he hurt you. He did this to you." A thought occurred. "And this is why you wouldn't go home last night. He's been… Christ, he's been hanging around you, hasn't he?" Roxas stared flatly. Frustrated by the total lack of confirmation or denial, he demanded, "Didn't you say you didn't know him? Why would he know about _you, _then, Roxas?"

Roxas said nothing.

Letting out a growl, half an exasperated cry, worry managing to lace it even as he resented the blond savagely in that moment, Hayner left him on his knees on the bed, went and got his phone, gazing around hopelessly at the chaos of the apartment. He returned to Roxas, who had lain down and balled up during his brief absence, dots of red following his feet. Rubbing his developing bruise gently, Hayner hesitated, watched as Roxas dug his face into the pillow. This wasn't usual grey-mood behaviour. This wasn't like the other episodes.

But then, he supposed, Roxas had never been attacked before.

The mere idea sent hot rage crashing through his veins. He dialled quickly, held his black phone up to his ear as he kept an eye on his charge. _"Seifer,"_ he greeted abruptly a moment later, voice terse, "it's Hayner. Whatever the hell you're doing right now, drop it. Get your stupid gunblade replica, grab your buddies, and head over to Roxas' place. I don't know what the hell went on, but he's been hurt, and he's not talking. I'd go myself, but I need to take care of him, and… _Please."_ The final word was spoken softly. A couple of moments later, just as quietly, he said, "Thank you," and hung up.

Tucking the phone away slowly, he grimaced at Roxas' back. "You heard that, right? He said he'll go. He's going to call if he finds anything out of the ordinary." He paused, added, "You know, we could always just skip all that, though, and have you tell me directly."

Roxas might as well have been unconscious. Or, a good word that sprung to mind was 'catatonic'. Although Hayner was pretty sure catatonic didn't include trying to off your best friend in any way possible. The aggression Roxas was displaying – it was completely unnatural, for either a bad day or good. Roxas didn't hurt people, not deliberately like that. He was a reactor, not an initiator, and that was why Seifer had been so down on him right at the start, trying to pick fights. He'd wanted a rise out of the blond, and the most he'd got was temper and words, until he'd attempted blows of his own.

Sighing, Hayner made his heavy way to the bed, turned and sat on the edge of the mattress, feeling it sink under his weight. He propped his elbows on his knees, took his face into his hands. "I can't believe I had to ask _Seifer," _he mumbled. Drawing a deep breath through his nose, he closed his eyes, scratched a hand through his wavy hair. "God, what a mess." He glanced back at Roxas. "You'll need to wash your face, Rox. The blood needs taking care of." Roxas, of course, didn't move, didn't acknowledge that he'd spoken.

Lips pursing, Hayner took a tired breath, pressed down on his knees and stood. He shuffled to the bathroom, where he wet a facecloth in warm water from the faucet, and grabbed a pair of tweezers from the top drawer. Olette had left them behind one time, early on in their mutual independence, claiming she needed a pair in every one of their houses 'for emergencies'. Well, her foresight had been grand. Hayner only wished she'd also had the presence of mind to have him lock his booze away.

He returned to the bedroom, Roxas in the same position, and went around to the other side of the bed, sliding in between the mattress and the wall. Digging a knee awkwardly into the mattress, he took hold of Roxas' face, testing for a reaction. He touched the facecloth against the dried blood, swiped at it, watched the blond blink slowly. It had to hurt, when Hayner started wiping it off properly, it had to be sending spikes through the cut, but Roxas just wasn't twitching.

Figuring that the cut itself would have to wait for when Roxas was back in his right frame of mind, knowing there was no way he could take him to the emergency room in this mood for fear of them taking one look at him and throwing him into a padded cell for a few days, Hayner finished off, eased himself up. The cloth had been white to start with, not necessarily the greatest choice considering that now it had turned a murky, rusting red. Balling it up, he threw it over towards his dirty laundry in the corner of them room, before shifting around to the foot of the bed.

"I'm pulling the glass out of you," he announced, hoarse with weariness. "Don't be a bitch about it, okay? If you can walk straight into it without flinching, you can sure as hell make life a little easier by letting me pull it out without squirming or kicking." He added firmly, with a note of hardness, "I'm not interested in your contrariness, Rox. Not tonight. Not after all this." When no answer came, he took this as his go-ahead, sat down heavily and carefully lay back, positioning himself so that he could reach the blond's soles without having to uncurl him from his foetal coil, but where he wouldn't necessarily get his teeth booted in, if the instinct occurred.

Cautiously, he reached forward with the tweezers, touched them to one of the five or six pieces that glinted in Roxas' foot, waiting for a jerk, some kind of reaction to the pain. Absolutely nothing. Taking a breath, steeling himself, head lifted awkwardly from the mattress, he trapped the sharp protruding edge between the flat metal ends and gently slid the first piece out. Blood came in response, but it was thin, manageable. A couple of them might need bandaids when he was done, though.

"You know, one thing worked out well, at least," he sighed conversationally, carefully pulling the second sliver free and wiping it onto the bedcovers. "I mean, if you're going to break a bottle and walk all over it, what could be better than something that disinfects while it cuts you? Probably," he continued in a mutter, "the definition of a 'win/lose' scenario."

There was silence for a while as he worked, before Roxas, voice muffled by the pillow, said, "It wasn't me."

Hayner slowed, glancing up quickly. Roxas volunteering information was a good thing. It suggested that maybe he wasn't too far gone just yet. As casually as he could manage, Hayner asked, "What wasn't you?"

A pause developed and lengthened, until Hayner nearly gave up on the whole idea of a conversation. The spike-haired blond continued, however, explaining in a low voice, "…I didn't break the bottle."

Hayner froze, computed this, lifted himself up and asked intently, "Does that mean that it happened _here? _Did the guy follow you up?"

Fractionally, the motion barely noticeable, Roxas shook his head. "No. It wasn't him. It wasn't me. Someone else."

Hayner grappled with this, scrubbed quickly at his forehead with his knuckles, demanded, "But that means someone _else _was up here, Roxas. Did you let anyone into the apartment before me? If you say you didn't do it, or the guy that hurt you, then _who?" _

To the wall, Roxas said, "…I don't know."

Frustration. It built up and up within Hayner, until he felt like he could burst. Usually, when that happened, it was the trigger to one of his week-long foul moods, but this time, _this _time, he didn't have the luxury. Not with Roxas bleeding on his bed, and Seifer just a phone-call away.

"God _damn _it," he muttered angrily. "Why the hell can't you care enough, _just enough, _to make some fucking sense, Rox?" He returned to the task of the blond's feet, less gentle this time. Roxas' toes twitched automatically at the spike as he yanked one of the larger shards out, leaving only two more to go. Other than that, Roxas didn't move again, straight back to normal – or whatever the hell was masquerading in its place.

It took ten minutes to work out the final piece, embedded awkwardly beneath the skin, Hayner concentrating with a scowl. At last it came free, releasing a new trickle of red, swabbed away by a section of the bedspread. Slipping from the bed onto his toes, knees bent, Hayner tilted his head to the side and inspected the end result, searching for any remaining glints reflecting the overhead light. He reached out, took hold of each of Roxas' feet and gently probed with his fingertips until he was satisfied the job was done.

Wiping his hands on his shorts, exhaling deeply, he stood, bent over the mattress and scooped up the delicate little pieces of glass, poking at them idly in his palm, rose-tinted from their time within Roxas' skin. "Okay," he breathed, and left the room, went to the doorway of the kitchen and hovered for a moment, wanting to throw the offending shards into the trash, but not wanting to end up tracking more fucking glass through the rest of the house via his sneakers.

In the end, he resignedly threw them back to where they'd started, soaking clean in vodka. He stopped in the bathroom again, swapped the tweezers for a towel and two bandaids, returned with them to Roxas, crawled onto the bed beside him and lay back down with his dirty shoes on the second pillow behind Roxas' head. Carefully, he wiped the running blood with the towel, then lifted his friend's feet and placed them onto the cleanest section of the now-soiled towel, before stripping the bandaids of their wrapping and applying them.

Finally, he was done with Roxas' feet. The temptation to just close his eyes and fall asleep playing watchdog to the spike-haired blond was strong, but the smell of alcohol had followed him, adhering to his rubber soles, nagging for solution. Rolling onto his back, he stared at the ceiling for a long minute, muscles achingly weary, eyes itchy.

His phone rang, hands delving into his pocket and fumbling, struggling to get it out before the custom tone ran its course and cut off. He answered quickly, "Seifer?" There was a long pause, hazel eyes narrowing gradually, the small voice in his ear drifting to where Roxas lay, staring at the wall. Hayner pushed himself up onto his elbows. "…Shit. Right. I see…" He reached up to rub a knuckle over the bridge of his nose, winced as it dug into where Roxas had hit him, a motivated punch lacking aim. "Okay. No, it's fine. I'm here with him." He listened for a moment, bristled. _"Yeah, _and fuck you, too. I'm capable of taking _care _of my best _friend, _thanks. I appreciate the help, you bastard. Just make sure the place is locked up when you leave." He hung up with a savage stab of the button, sitting agitatedly. "Well," he threw irritably over his shoulder, "I'm sure you know what the report was. Stuff all over the ground, that pole that holds your window shut among it. Your plant was knocked over, and your TV was smashed. Rai was crying because he sniffed part of the carpet near the wall that smelled weird and 'spicy'." He stood, running his hands through his hair, paced towards the door then spun, gripping his head with helpless fear. "Roxas, this is _big. _This is _big, _and now you – you're like _this." _He closed his eyes, swallowed. "We can't report this to the police until you're back to normal, okay? So please, _please – _pull it together, man." He blinked, watched the blond's back, waiting, hoping for a reaction, any at all. The unbroken silence was a disappointment.

Growling under his breath, Hayner twisted, left the room, grabbed a handful of towels and the broom from the closet next to the bathroom, carried them into the kitchen and threw the towels down. He went about cleaning the mess, mopping up the vodka, sweeping the glass, the broom-head sodden in moments. Faced with a night of tidying and lack of answers, he threw himself angrily into the task, fighting back the small, dark voice that told him he should have known something was going on with Roxas.

Half an hour later, someone knocked at the door. Hayner froze, head jerking up, posture stiff. Expression set grimly, he pulled the broom up, taking his phone out and clutching it against the peeled wooden handle in case he needed to make a quick call.

Roxas was standing in the door of the bedroom, skin drained pale, eyes dull, hair dishevelled. Hayner paused next to him. "What do you think?" he asked tersely. "Is it the guy?"

"Axel," Roxas uttered. The taller blond's eyes thinned out.

"Axel? That's his name?" He grunted. _"Right." _He headed for the door, wielding the broom in front of his body, Roxas hanging back, staying at the bedroom. He pressed his nose to the wall, half his face hidden, watching as Hayner approached, another knock rapping sharply at the wood.

"Who's there?" the wavy-haired blond barked.

"_Chicken-wuss, let me in," _was the muffled, annoyed answer. Hayner wobbled visibly, throwing a wild look over to Roxas, who leaned out with a frown.

"Seifer!" Hayner unlocked the deadbolt, wrenched the door open, the large Struggler barging past the instant that he could, elbowing the broom aside.

"What're you gonna do, sweep me to death?" he muttered, strutting into the middle of the room, pausing as he crunched over the broken pieces of bowl, the trail mix. He looked down, lifted a foot to observe the mess with a frown. "What the hell is this?" He stepped back, crunched some more, looked around at it all with dawning comprehension. "Don't tell me something happened here, too…?" Hard eyes swung around to Hayner. "You didn't say anything about this."

Hayner glared. "There was nothing to say. This was just… an accident."

Seifer's gaze found the hole in the wall, widened, turned back to Hayner. "You've been sucker-punched," he observed, startled. Then, suddenly all cold business, he demanded, "Who did all this? This was no fucking _accident, _Hayner." His hand moved to rest on the hilt of the gunblade replica hanging sheathed at his hip, sharp as the real thing, the only part lacking being the bullets. "So, spill."

The wavy-haired blond shook his head with aggravation. "Why are you _here, _Seifer?" he asked, eyes cutting to the side. "I'm pretty sure I told you I could take _care _of this – you're not needed."

The older man straightened, chin rising. "Says you," he returned witheringly, "but you didn't see what I did. Roxas' apartment's a mess. You haven't even told me what the hell happened, or how bad he was hurt. What, Hay, you thought I was gonna go home and have a pleasant dinner after all that?"

"Isn't Olette waiting for you or something?" the other blond muttered. Seifer's eyes narrowed.

"This is more important." He caught a twitch of motion in the peripheral of his vision, head twisting sharply to see Roxas half-hiding behind the doorframe to the bedroom, expressionlessly watching. "You," Seifer commanded, "get over here and let me look at you."

"No!" Hayner said instantly, moving forward, heading for Roxas. "He has bare feet, he'll cut them again on all the glass."

"_Again?" _Seifer echoed. Hayner threw a scowl back at him, leaned the broom against the wall, tried to lead Roxas back to the bed, but the blond resisted, clinging wordlessly to the doorframe.

"Roxas, come on, just come and lie back down," Hayner muttered. The blond dug his fingers into the frame, kept his flat gaze fixed on Seifer.

"…What's wrong with him?" Seifer asked after several moments, a puzzled sort of timbre to his tone. Hayner growled.

"Nothing, _nothing _is _wrong _with him, now come _on, _Roxas!" After a few more moments of struggling, he released the difficult blond, resisted the urge to punch the wall. "What did I say about your stupid contrariness?"

Seifer barked out a laugh. "Contrary? Chicken-wuss the second? Nice joke, idiot. He's the biggest pushover I've ever come across." He walked over to them, leaning to one side to engage Roxas' stare again. "So, care to tell me why the hell I'm here, Blondie?"

Hayner bumped his forehead into the wall with a low rumble of resignation. Roxas didn't move, didn't speak, didn't break his gaze. Seifer smiled a little, an uncertain, borderline sneer. "Do you see something you _like, _Roxas?"

"Seifer, stop," Hayner sighed. "Just – please leave. We don't need you here."

Pale blue eyes narrowed in his direction, Seifer smiling more thinly. "Should've thought of that before you called me. I'm not going anywhere til I've had some answers. Besides…" He wrapped his hands around Hayner's shoulders, the wave-haired blond jolting at the sudden contact, and shifted him hard to the side, pressing him against the wall as he got a good, unobstructed view of Roxas' face for the first time.

"…Nasty little graze you've got going there, Roxas," he said, frowning coolly. "Tell me how it came about."

Roxas said nothing.

"I said _tell _me," the man snapped, releasing Hayner, grabbing Roxas instead, grip tight, fingers digging in. Hayner punched his shoulder, hard.

"Leave him the hell alone," he yelled angrily. "He doesn't have to answer if he doesn't want to, he's in _shock, _you asshole!"

"Fuck his shock," Seifer responded bluntly. "I wanna know what happened."

Pushing himself between them, Hayner got in Seifer's face, snarled, "He got _attacked, _okay? He went home to get some clothes to stay here for a few days, and some guy _attacked _him. He came to Aerith's the other day looking for him, but Roxas was sick. I think he must have followed him home." He shoved at the taller man, forcing him away from Roxas. "So back off!"

Seifer allowed himself to be pushed, staggered back a couple of steps before steadying, eyeing them both with an odd expression in place. "…I want to hear Roxas say something."

"No," Hayner argued heatedly. Seifer arched an eyebrow.

"_No? _No speech whatsoever?"

Hayner hesitated, glanced back to gauge Roxas, see if there was any chance in hell he was about to snap out of his funk. "…No. No speech whatsoever," he said miserably, after a pause. A long moment passed, Seifer studying the pair of them, before Roxas abruptly let go of the doorframe, and shambled back to bed. Hayner craned his neck, made sure the boy was going to stay there, before returning his attention to Seifer.

Silence grew between the two blonds. With some actual real concern, Seifer asked, "…So, is it just his face? It wasn't anything more than the cut? I mean… I've seen guys get beaten worse than this before. Roxas is the first I've seen that just clammed up like this."

Hayner blinked, head jerking up. "What else would it be?" Seifer raised a brow, held his gaze evenly. It took a few seconds to occur to Hayner what he was referring to, blanching as it sunk in. "He would have said something if… _Wait, _are you suggesting that - ?"

Seifer held up his hands, glancing away. "I… am suggesting absolutely nothing," he disclaimed. "I just wonder, is all. Roxas' behaviour isn't… _normal." _He looked back at Hayner, a crease forming between his eyes. "I've never seen him like this before."

Hayner crossed his arms, drew a breath, glanced back one more time before pushing past him, grabbing the broom again, heading back towards the kitchen with a thin mouth. "Yeah, well, you haven't been around him much," he muttered. "This isn't just about the attack, okay? I can tell you that much. I don't think anything… _worse, _happened to him than what we can see. He just…" He paused at the kitchen entrance, gazing blankly down at the mess, Seifer following, leaning beside him against the wall. "He shuts down like this from time to time," Hayner explained quietly. "He's always done this. And I guess the stress of what happened to him triggered it again, even though he only had an episode last week."

Seifer shot him a sceptical look. "I saw you guys over the weekend, and he seemed fine."

Hayner closed his eyes, shook his head. "We got lucky. That was right after it finished."

"…Oh." Seifer peered over Hayner's shoulder. "So… this is actually almost normal for him, then. Nothing to worry about."

Hayner gave a sharp, bitter laugh, shot him a scornful look. "Seifer, if your best friend went like that every couple of months, would you honestly not be worried?"

Pursing his lips, the man considered him closely. "I guess not, then," he conceded. His gaze went to the kitchen floor. "So what _did _happen here? The bowl out there, this all here…?"

Hayner sighed. "Roxas, and Roxas. He lost it a little. He wasn't trying to hurt me, though."

Seifer nodded, scrutinising the side of his face. "…Good." He waved a finger in front of his own face, mocking, "And this, that little mark there, the shape of someone's fist, that sure wasn't Roxas trying to hurt you at all."

Sending a dry, unimpressed look over, Hayner returned to pushing his feet through the towels, sweeping at the bottle's remains. "You can leave now, anyway," he said shortly. "Your curiosity's been satisfied, you know at least as much as I do. Your trip to Roxas' has been vindicated." He snorted, asked, "Before you go, though, how's Rai doing?"

Seifer was quiet. "…That was pepper spray in Roxas' apartment, you know," he revealed, hands going into his pockets. "Rai's busy squeezing a bottle of eye-drops into his skull to try and get rid of the burning. His face is bright red. He's wheezing like fuck."

Hayner stopped, twisted, stared dumbly. Seifer rocked a little, shot him a bland look, nodded, shrugged slightly. "If it's all the same to you – and I don't really care if it's not – I'll be hanging out here tonight." He grimaced. "The guy knew where Roxas lived, right? What's the guarantee he's not heading here next? You want a face full of pepper that bad?"

Hayner struggled, expression utterly blank. _"…Pepper spray?"_

"That's what I said," Seifer agreed. He clicked his tongue as he surveyed the broken glass on the tiles. "I might as well put myself to use while I'm here. Do you have another broom or anything? I'll start cleaning up out near the door."

Hayner scowled, a hand leaping out the grab the man's arm as he started to pull away. "Did I _say _you could stay?"

Seifer cocked his head to the side, rolled his eyes, pulled his gunblade replica free and pointed it at the ceiling. "Do you have anyone _else _willing to protect your pansy-ass if some crazy violent dude comes a-knockin'?"

"What are you going to do, hack him to pieces?" Hayner demanded sarcastically. Seifer smiled winsomely.

"Wouldn't that make me the hero if I did?"

Hayner glared, hesitated, eyes flicking to the weapon. _"Pepper_ spray." His expression fell slowly. "A guy went after Roxas with pepper spray."

"Congratulations," Seifer said mildly, "you appear to have caught on to the fact that there was pepper spray involved, Hayner. Now, where's your little handheld vacuum cleaner thing? You have one, right?" He left the blond standing there, went to the closet beside the bathroom, bent down and started rummaging through.

A noise of victory came moments later, as he withdrew with his cleaning implement of choice, straightening, the gunblade's sheath knocking the wall as he turned. His boots clomped down the short hallway, heading for the sitting room, poking his head into the bedroom along the way.

"Go to sleep, Roxas," he commanded the blond, who lay on his side with his hands clamped between his thighs, eyes wide and unblinking.

"No," came the answer. "I'm not going to."

Shrugging, Seifer continued on, Hayner making no more arguments about his continued presence.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Oshmygoodness, tiiiired. I think there'll be a three-chapter update this time, simply because I realised while talking to **kurosora1984 **that this really is my main-focus story, and the deeper we get into it, the more intricate it becomes to keep notes for – I'd like to dedicate a little more attention to it each time I come round, if I feel like it, so that I'm not expected to be maintaining the intensity after coming over from Sink It In,of all stories :P (Translation: Lauren spent too many pages on a single scene again).

Also! I'm sorry I've been lax in the reviews department lately, that's definitely going to improve, but WitWitah threw a spanner in my whole… review reply _groove… _and I wanted so badly to be writing this that I haven't really got onto the SII ones yet /sweatdrop/ Now that I've had my HTPD fix, though, I'll get right on it all :D

CHAPTER TEN

When Sora opened his eyes, he immediately sensed the wrongness of his surroundings.

It wasn't that he was in the incorrect place, or even that the time was strange… in that sense, everything was perfectly familiar. Everything he saw was fine. Nothing was amiss, visually. The world was… cool, dark, and untouched.

No, it was something in the air, a warning at the back of his mind. Things were – out of his body – it was so heavy, so thick, exhaustion weighing down every limb. The thought of getting up and going wandering was met with alarm bells, almost a sense of panic. Sora _couldn't _get up, he _couldn't _go out, not tonight. Bewildered, he searched his head for a reason, for a root to the problem, and slowly, slowly, through the fog, a faint answer, a disjointed memory, came drifting forward.

It was because… he was sick.

Yes. Sora was sick.

Almost on cue, he felt a burning pulse in his chest. He struggled for a moment to breathe, eyebrows knitting together, fear threading cold fingers through his heart.

Sora couldn't go out tonight. He needed more sleep, as despised as the activity was.

He would _have_ to sleep. He would have to _recover._

And, hopefully, when he woke again, he would be stronger.

Roxas woke up to a voice, an angry, quiet voice. It was coming from somewhere nearby, but was muffled by walls, by a door. He slowly turned his head to the side, shifting slightly under the weight of the cool covers, staring at the rectangle of light outlining the door to Hayner's bedroom. It was still dark; through the slats of the blinds, night was still heavy in the sky.

He lay there for a while, listening to the voice. It floated in and out of range, accompanied by footsteps, someone pacing back and forth along the hallway. The occasional word came through, clear and audible, giving Roxas snatches of a conversation he couldn't care less about, and gradually, his gaze shifted up towards the ceiling. He stared for a while. The glowing numbers on the alarm clock bolted to the wall read that it was four in the morning, but Roxas couldn't bring himself to take note of this fact. Everything inside him was an endless, dull plane of grey, with no room for colour or contrast. He was a blank slate, with no interaction to form thoughts over.

In the corner of the room, something shifted, and he suddenly became aware of the fact that he wasn't actually alone. Looking down, he sought out the source of the motion, catching a split-second glimpse of shadow – and then nothing. He blinked at the emptiness for a while, before sighing. "You're hiding from me." Returning to look upward, he mumbled, "I don't care."

Outside the door, the owner of the angry voice was apprehended, Hayner's more recognisable tone hissing words inaudibly. There was a pause, then, loudly, "What? He hasn't made a peep, he's sleeping through the whole fucking thing. Now, do you mind? I'm trying to argue with my girlfriend, here."

"_Then do it elsewhere, asshole!" _Hayner spat in a whisper, the words coming through this time, less controlled.

"Look, back off, okay?" There was a beat of silence, then, _"No, _I told you I wasn't at Hayner's, didn't I? Why the hell would I be _there?" _The anger flared back up, the argument becoming less muffled. "If you turned up at his door right this second? I don't know, Olette! Probably chicken-wuss beating off to the sound of a washing machine, or some fucked up shit like that! Maybe _sleep, _since it's four in the goddamn _morning."_

As the voice faded again, and stayed that way, the door creaked open, a silhouette slipping through in the brief brightness. In the momentary light, Roxas recognised Hayner, at the same time that Hayner noticed the shine of his eyes. Then the door was shut again. Hayner stood in silence for a minute, before murmuring, "Are you okay?"

Roxas didn't answer, and the taller boy sighed. He came over, sat on the edge of the bed, resting his head in his hands and turning it to one side, studying the silent blond. "So I guess this means you haven't come good yet," he supposed tiredly. Groaning faintly, he rubbed a hand over his features. "Oh, man, what an endless night." Taking a breath through his nose, leaning his mouth against his knuckles, he mumbled, "Olette and Seifer are arguing. They've been at it for an hour and a half now." He shook his head, rested his forehead on his palms, adding, "I won't let him tell her why he's here, or she'll… she'll just _freak, _Rox. And so they're fighting, because he won't tell her where he is…" His eyes squeezed shut, exhaustion evident in the sag of his posture. "It's all my fault." Turning to regard his friend wearily, he said, "But you don't care, do you? It wouldn't bother you one way or another." A moment passed. "I'm sorry Seifer woke you up. I tried to keep him quiet, but, well… it's Seifer."

"…Why would Olette give two shits if he's here at your place?" Roxas asked flatly. Hayner froze, looked up.

"Hey," he smiled. "You're talking."

"You didn't answer my question."

Hayner's expression slowly faded, resuming its more haggard appearance. "Why would Olette care? Because he was meant to be with her. He blew her off when I called last night."

"…You're an idiot," Roxas decided, closing his eyes.

Hayner sighed. "I'm gonna go… do some laundry. I'll let you get back to sleep."

"No." Roxas was looking at him again, almost alertly. "I don't want to sleep."

Hayner grimaced. "Why? Not that it matters to you right now, but the more you sleep, the more likely it is that you'll recover faster. That's always the way it goes."

"I won't."

"No? Just like you weren't going to a while ago, before I came in and found you snoring?" Hayner sounded almost amused. Roxas, however, went still. He just stared at the taller boy, until all humour stuttered and died out, leaving him looking thin and lonely. "Okay, Roxas. You can help me with the laundry, then. But we have to dress you more warmly, it gets cold down there."

He stood, the spike-haired blond sitting up, and went to the chest of drawers, pulling open the second one, rummaging through. As he dragged out a sweater, something small and thin came flicking out along with it, fluttering through the air and landing on the bed. It took a moment for Hayner to realise what the sound had been, and when he did, he was suddenly electrified. He dived for the rectangle of card that lay beside Roxas, as if expecting to have to wrench it away from the blond's curious fingers, forgetting that oh, that's right… Roxas _wasn't _curious.

Whatever had come out, whatever it was that Hayner was so concerned about being seen by his best _friend _of all people… it was beneath the boy's notice.

Hayner hesitated, holding the item carefully in his hands, watching Roxas for a reaction. When none was forthcoming, he relaxed a notch, tucked it back away within the drawer, digging it right to the back. He picked up the sweater from where he'd tossed it to the floor in his panic, gathered the fabric together so that it could be slipped straight over Roxas' head and tugged down his chest. He was forced to treat the blond like a heavy mannequin, Roxas doing nothing to help the process along, sitting motionlessly as Hayner struggled to slide his arms through their respective holes.

Grunting, he snapped, "You know, if you're really that keen to come with me, _help _me, Rox."

"I'll stay here," the blond replied calmly.

Rolling his eyes, Hayner muttered, "Like hell you will, I'm not leaving you in the tender care of _Seifer." _Huffing a frustrated breath, he threw himself into the task, managing to dress Roxas' _upper _half more warmly, at least. He was too drained to try and force the guy into pants, but figured that this would be enough. He pulled Roxas off the bed, the blond unresisting, grasping one of his hands and leading him out of the bedroom.

The apartment lights were almost all on, giving an illusion of daylight, even though the sun was still at least an hour away from even greying the horizon. Seifer was in the sitting room, now clear of debris, the carpet safe for bare feet again. He was sitting on the sofa, knees pressing against the edge of the coffee table, arguing at his reflection in the TV.

"Why the hell are you bringing _that _up? What are we even _talking _about, anymore?" the man was demanding, as the pair entered.

Hayner led Roxas to the door, pressed him against the wall and said, "Stay here. I'll just grab my dirty laundry." Glancing up at the sound of his voice, Seifer paused at the sight of Roxas, the blond staring dully back, attention attracted only by the fact that he had moved. For a long moment, they gazed at one another, the man hiking an eyebrow up, before blinking, shaking his head, saying, "Yeah, I'm listening. I'm _listening, _Olette. _Christ." _

Roxas continued to watch him, Seifer throwing scowling glances over his way, obviously wondering, despite everything, if this was a challenge he was meant to be rising to. When Hayner reappeared, hauling two stuffed pillowcases over his shoulders, one of clothing, one of towels, Seifer broke off the conversation without warning to press the phone against his chest and ask, "Where are you going?"

"Laundry room," the blond replied shortly. "Roxas is coming with me."

Seifer eyed him dubiously. "Are you sure? He's looking – kind of messed up still. Like he might snap. He's spent this whole time staring at me."

Shooting him an impatient look, Hayner said, "I'm sure we'll be fine, thanks all the same." At the door, he stopped, threw the makeshift sacks to the ground, and went to where Seifer had yet to resume his conversation, still watching them. He paused, shifted his weight onto his left foot, looking hard at the man for a moment, before reaching out and swiftly tugging his black beanie off. Spluttering a protest as his hair was sent wildly in all directions, Seifer snatched for it, for Hayner, nearly falling off the seat as the boy sauntered over to where Roxas remained standing dispassionately.

Smirking, he tugged the hat onto the shorter blond's head, pulling it low over his ears, adjusting the brim so that the blue eyes continued to blink out unhindered. Turning back to Seifer, who was looking more furious by the second, unable to attack with Olette on the other end of the phone, he said smugly, _"Now _we'll be fine. There's no _way _Roxas will get cold in the basement."

Eyes like slits, Seifer finally lifted the cell-phone back up, asked, "You still there? Sorry. Dropped my phone." He kept his gaze locked on Hayner, the blond's head held jauntily high, a smile hovering ceaselessly over his lips as he swung one of the pillowcases back up over his shoulder, shoving the other into Roxas' arms, the boy automatically locking his muscles in place to stop it from falling.

Hayner unlatched the door, pulled it open and ushered Roxas out, turning and giving Seifer a cocky wave and a wink, receiving a stiff middle finger in return. With a chuckle, he swung it shut, adjusting the load on his back, throwing a glance Roxas' way. "You look like a living doll," he muttered. "No wonder Seifer was weirded out by you, man." He gestured with his head. "Come on, let's go."

Roxas trailed him on auto-pilot, Hayner constantly checking to make sure he didn't veer off simply because he didn't feel like following anymore. He wished it wasn't so damn silent, but attempting conversation with Roxas when he was like this was asking to either be completely ignored, or cursed at in a disinterested fashion. In the end, it just wasn't worth it, not even to break the monotony.

The two blonds took the several sets of stairs down to the basement of the building, Hayner using his house key to unlock it and step down into the cold laundry room, flicking on the lights. Roxas followed closely, so much so that Hayner had to quicken his pace to keep from getting stepped on. They reached the bottom of the narrow stairway, Hayner slinging his pillowcase to one side, letting Roxas pass, and then stumping back up and closing the door again to keep the noise down.

With a sigh, he returned to Roxas, who was looking around blankly. "Don't drop that," he warned the blond, nodding to the packed pillowcase in his arms as he picked up his own and started towards one of the machines. "There's a bottle of cola in it."

Roxas dropped it.

The clothes burst out, luckily cushioning the cola, Hayner swearing viciously and throwing the other bag onto the nearest front-loader, hurrying to scoop it all up. "You really are some kind of bitch," he snarled, carrying the lumpy bundle over, slamming it on top of another of the line of washing machines. Glaring at Roxas, he pulled out his wallet, fished out some quarters, and slipped them into two different machines, while the other blond just stood in place and continued looking impassive.

Grunting and muttering to himself, Hayner bent and emptied a pillowcase into each one, throwing the empty sacks into the one with the towels, got the liquid soap from where he'd left it beside the large bottle of cola on one of the dryers and haphazardly glugged pale-blue into each. He slammed the lid shut on the clothing, programmed the cycle, and got it going, the hiss of water loud in the hush.

With several of the overhead halogen lights flickering uncertainly, Hayner returned to the cola, swapped it with the soap, carried it over to the machine holding the towels and bobbed down again. Unscrewing the cap, he upended the entire bottle in to mix with the washing liquid, shooting Roxas a glance. "It's for the blood," he explained bluntly. "Cola helps with bloodstains."

Roxas didn't care. Hayner swung the cover shut on the cola-soap combination, started it up, and hoped that when he saw his discoloured towels again, they'd be back to their more-or-less white condition. He threw the empty bottle into a nearby trash can, went to Roxas and took hold of his arms, pushing him backward until his back hit a nearby, dormant machine. "Sit down, you asshole." Hayner awkwardly lifted him up, Roxas making the slightest, _slightest _effort to assist by supporting himself enough to not fall over backwards onto the one behind. Hayner was perversely grateful.

He hopped up onto the machine next to him, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, slightly bent, and taking one out, sliding it between his lips. "You know," he muttered, digging for his lighter, "far be it from me to encourage bad habits in other people, but maybe you should take this one up, buddy."

The silence was all he expected. He lit up, face briefly flickering orange, and inhaled. As he let a breath of smoke go, he tucked his lighter away, eyes rising to the cement ceiling. "Only place in the entire goddamn building without smoke detectors. Thank _Christ." _

One heel tapping rhythmically against the metal front of his machine, Hayner slowly finished his cigarette, glancing around in boredom. "I don't suppose you feel like telling me anything helpful about yesterday," he sighed at last, tossing the butt onto the hard floor, slipping down to crush it firmly with the toe of his sneaker. When Roxas didn't respond, he shifted around in front of the blond, hands on hips to stare at him for a minute, before dropping his arms and gently taking hold of one of the boy's ankles, elevating the leg and peering at the sole of its bare foot. "It's looking okay," he mumbled. He checked the other one. "Cuts are doing fine." Next, he took the silent boy's face carefully between his hands, observing him critically. "You're gonna need stitches," he said softly. "Otherwise you'll scar." Roxas watched him from under hooded eyelids. Hayner shrugged. "But hell, what do I know? Seven years of Struggle can't have taught me much."

"…You smell like charred heart," Roxas whispered hoarsely, almost startling the other blond, who had accepted that the only sound aside from the rumbling machines was going to be his own voice. Hayner studied him, eyes narrowed.

"…Roxas…" The question he wanted to ask, it hovered on the tip of his tongue. It was _there, _and demanding to be aired… but Hayner didn't think he wanted to know the answer, maybe. And he didn't think he could perform the betrayal it'd take to give it voice. Roxas might have been lost for now, but he'd be back, in a day, a few days – and he'd remember his best friend's doubt. He might not care now… but he'd care eventually.

"How long can we stay like this, I wonder?" he asked instead, voice low and distant. "You pretending you're fine, me pretending I'm fine… Granted, there's differences between our not-fine's, but in the end…" He sighed, shook his head. "We're not the most normal guys in existence, are we, Rox?" He laughed a little, harshly. "You're my best friend, and you don't even know the extent of what a fuck-up _I _am…"

Roxas stirred slightly, for the first time since he'd woken, and lowered his eyes. "Stop looking at me." Hayner closed his eyes, let out a breath.

"I think I need another cigarette." He turned away from the blond, hunting once again through his pockets. He wandered over to the machines to check on their progress.

From behind, he heard muttered again, "Don't _look _at me."

"I'm not," he said shortly over his shoulder.

"…Someone is," Roxas said quietly, making Hayner pause, the slightest shiver running up his spine. Cigarette between his lips, he flattened his hands on the vibrating machines, before turning and sweeping the room with a sharp gaze. Slowly, he took in the stillness, eyes coming at last to rest on the downturned head of the hat-covered blond.

"It's just you and me down here, Rox," he pointed out, removing the cigarette and exhaling smoke with each word. He thought for a moment. "I know you must be scared, even if you don't want to admit to it, even though you're… _hiding _from it, basically. But down here, it's just us. No one can see you but me."

For a few heartbeats, it seemed like Roxas wasn't going to react to this, was going to return to his speechless state, and Hayner almost gave up – but then the boy started slowly shaking his head. "There's always someone watching me," he said hoarsely, a bleakness to his words that came from an edge of sharp belief. "Always."

"Not here," Hayner insisted stubbornly. He turned his back on him, adding, "See? Look, not even _I _am looking at you, now. You're completely alone over there, Roxas. I don't have eyes in the back of my head, okay?"

"Even when I'm alone. Even when I'm sleeping," came the dull response, and again, Hayner got a chill. He shook it off firmly, twisting his head, jamming his cigarette between his teeth, wishing he was a chain-smoker.

"You're being paranoid," he accused.

Roxas blinked, raised his head, met Hayner's gaze and for a moment seemed to actually be aware. He was participating in a conversation, he was rising out of the deeper levels of his funk, and Hayner was abruptly reminded of just how badly yesterday's attack must have affected the blond. This was all just – so fucked up and awful.

Roxas nodded slowly. "Yeah. I am." His gaze slipped past his friend, passing sightlessly through the far wall. "Doesn't mean it's not true."

Hayner gave up.

An hour passed, during which the clothes finished washing, were piled into dryers, and then stuffed back into their clean pillowcases to be folded upstairs. The taller blond once again shoved one of the warm bundles into Roxas' arms to be held, so that he could open the door at the top and lead the way back up to the apartment. They shuffled up wearily, the sun beginning to approach their side of the planet, a different, heavier feel to the air, the kind that came when daylight was the resented indicator that sleep had yet to be indulged in. It was the signal that, even if you went to bed right that second, it would be painfully, sickeningly soon that the alarm went off.

Feet dragging, Hayner pushed into the apartment, finding it dim, silent. He hesitated, ushered Roxas in, closed the door and looked around cautiously.

"About time you turned up," came the slow, drowsy voice from the couch. "Nice trick you pulled, chicken-wuss, I can't leave without my hat."

Setting his pillowcase down by the door, encouraging Roxas to do the same, Hayner asked cautiously, "You're leaving now?"

"It's that, or find my ass dumped before lunchtime," the man mumbled sleepily. "And as much as I know you'd love to see that, I'm thinking I should probably be gallant and go tell her a nice lie before she decides I've been cheating on her." He let out a yawn, a groan, and sat up from where he'd been lying, rubbing his face. "Don't worry, I won't tell her about Roxas."

Hayner was silent for a moment. "…I don't want you to get caught in a lie."

"I won't," came the curt response. "I lie with the best of them, okay? Now give me my fucking hat." Slowly, Hayner turned to Roxas, who had already taken the beanie off and was holding it out. Taking it, he in turn extended it over towards Seifer, who grabbed it and quickly fitted it back over his messy hair. He stood, the gunblade replica still hanging from its sheath clipped onto his belt. "I doubt anybody's gonna come – whoever did this to Roxas wouldn't have the balls to try it twice, probably – but, still, call me if you need to."

Hayner nodded slightly. "For the record – whatever it's worth –" he said quietly, "I wouldn't actually love to see you get your ass dumped."

Seifer paused to send him a patronising look. "Come on, Hayner. Think about who you're talking to." When the blond lowered his head slightly, saying nothing in return, Seifer darted a quick look Roxas' way, lifted a hand and clapped Hayner on the shoulder. "Like I said – call me." Hayner nodded, Seifer flicking Roxas' forehead as he stepped past, adding sternly, "And you, snap out of this shit. I want to hear you talking all your stupid feelings out like the sap I know you are the next time I see you, got it?" He strutted to the door, opened it, letting the light from the hall spill in, dimming the effect of the natural illumination beginning to grow outside, flipped a two-fingered wave over his shoulder. "Catch you later, wimps."

The door slammed behind him, and Seifer's steps faded away. Hayner sighed, looked at Roxas, reached out and tugged a few spikes back into place, muttering, "You have gross hat-hair like his, now." Drawing back to observe his efforts, he smiled a little, though it lasted only briefly. "Come help me fold, Roxas. Then I'll burn you something for breakfast, huh?"

He hooked an arm around his friend's shoulders, grabbing the corners of both pillowcases and carrying them, slipping in his grasp, to the bedroom. Roxas sat, of his own volition, and though he didn't help, he watched. Hayner turned on the light, drew the various items out one by one and folded them neatly, sorting them into piles to be put away, Roxas following each movement with eyes that were actually seeing what was going on. The distance in them was fading, slowly. Hayner noticed it, said nothing that might draw attention to it for fear of driving him back under, and just kept going until he was finished.

"Come on," he said, arms filled with a tower of towels to be left in the cupboard next to the bathroom. He exited into the hallway, listening acutely, and, when Roxas' feet sounded out across the carpet, he silently celebrated.

After putting away the towels, he went to the kitchen, opened the fridge and gazed inside. He glanced over to find Roxas hovering at the doorway, eyes on the tiles. "…There's no more glass," he said cautiously. "It's safe to come in with bare feet." Roxas' eyes ticked over to Hayner's sneakers. He hesitated, stepped in slowly.

"It feels cold," he muttered.

Hayner eyed him carefully for a moment, then looked away as the blond's gaze rose from the floor, pretending he'd been studying the contents of the refrigerator the entire time. "I hate to break it to you," he announced, "but, uh, I don't actually have any food. Unless you count… mayonnaise. And I don't even know how old it is." Shaking his head, he eased the door shut. "We'll have to go out when the store opens, pick up some stuff." Hands on hips he turned to Roxas, taking a breath, adding casually, "And then, I don't know, maybe we could head on over to the police station and – file a report or something on this attack."

"_No," _said Roxas sharply. He stepped close, suddenly connected with reality, a hand wrapping around Hayner's arm, squeezing hard. "We're not going to. I'm not going to sleep, and I'm not going to report it."

Hayner hitched in a slight breath, told him, "You're _hurting _me." Then, eyes jumping into a glare, he demanded, "What the hell are you talking about? You can't just never _sleep _again, Roxas – and what if this guy comes back for you, huh? You can't just never go home, either!" Temper being ever his undoing, he added, _"And_ you can't let that bastard get away with what he _did _to you – fuck, have you _seen _yourself yet, in between trying to not exist and leaving bruises on my goddamn arm?" He knocked the blond's grip away roughly, stepping back angrily. "Hell goddamn _shit, _I'm tired, Roxas! I've been up all _night _dealing with _you, _and with _Seifer, _and listening to him fucking bicker with _Olette _for hours on end, and _I _went to work yesterday, and _I _was the one who was having the shitty mood, and you took it _all away from me _by getting _attacked!" _He inhaled, snapped his hands in Roxas' direction. "And now – _now, _you won't even try to take steps to make sure the guy that did it gets what's coming to him! I mean – I mean – _what the hell am I supposed to do, Roxas? _I am _not _your _caretaker!" _Throwing his hands through his hair, Hayner paced agitatedly away towards the sink, digging his nails into his scalp. He stood there for a long moment, breathing hard, then squeezed his eyes shut and let out a low scream of frustration through his teeth.

A long silence fell through the apartment. Feeling slightly calmer, Hayner lowered his arms, opened his eyes and gazed out the window for a moment at the rising sun. Roxas was still there behind him; he could hear the blond's slightly ragged breaths.

Voice hoarse, he softly said, "Look… Let's just go to the 7-11 around the corner, okay? Screw waiting for the grocery store to open. Let's just get some milk and microwaveable burritos and come home." When Roxas didn't respond, he looked over his shoulder, forced a smile. "Besides, this way, there's probably less chance that that… _Axel _guy will be waiting. And it's nice and close, so you won't have to go far. Alright, Roxas?"

The blond stared at him, ice-blue eyes wide, neck stiff. With a trickle of dread, Hayner wondered if his outburst had frightened him… but then, Roxas said, "He won't be waiting."

Hayner blinked. "Huh? Who, the Axel dude?"

"He won't be waiting," Roxas repeated. As Hayner started to frown in puzzlement, he calmly added, "He won't be seeing anything for a while."

Eyes narrowing slowly, Hayner turned away from the sink, eyebrows drawn together. "…What?"

Roxas said nothing more on the matter, apparently finding any further elucidation to be superfluous. He just continued to stand and steadily look at the taller boy, who was suddenly faintly uneasy. "Roxas… I really wish you'd tell me what went on at your place yesterday. Please, just – tell me something I don't know, okay? I know there was pepper spray, and that your TV got trashed… What _happened?" _

"…I want a burrito," the blond said faintly. Hayner pressed his lips together, resisted the urge to start yelling again, to grab the blond like he first had the night before and shake some answers out of him. Instead, he sucked a long inhalation, stabilised his rocky insides, stilled himself and then nodded.

"Okay. Fine. Burrito it is." He checked his pocket for his keys and wallet, making sure they were still in place, pulled out what was technically his third cigarette of the day and held it unlit between his lips. "You can probably take the sweater off," he mumbled, starting forward. "It'll be warming up already out there."

Roxas left it on.

The two of them headed back out of the apartment, Hayner pausing at the doorway to run his fingers over the crunched dent under the light switch with a grimace. Tugging off a dangling piece of plaster, he tossed it to the ground out in the hall, locked up and slung an arm around Roxas. "Let's go, man."

Roxas' left arm came up hesitantly, wrapping around the taller boy's waist, surprising Hayner a little. He glanced down, lips parting, and tightened the grip slightly on his shoulder. They headed down the passage, took the stairs, exited out onto the street. As Hayner had predicted, it was already warm. The sun wasn't even up, was only just, just barely, shining over the horizon, but already the smell of heat was in the air. It wasn't long before they released one another, sweat springing up wherever they were touching. Roxas perspired quietly inside the sweater, still not taking it off, Hayner noting his discomfort with a sigh. He lit his cigarette, smoked it as they walked.

They headed along the street, Hayner keeping an eye out for any heads of bright red hair, but the roads were, for the moment, empty of other pedestrians. The vehicular traffic was only just starting to thicken, mostly trucks making deliveries and travellers entering town from the direction of Traverse. No one paid undue attention to the two fatigued blonds limping down the sidewalk.

They reached the 7-11, entering the cool interior of the store, the air-con rattling loudly over by the cashier's station. The clerk glanced up from his magazine, muttered a, "Good morning," and returned his attention downward to the glossy pages.

Hayner touched Roxas' elbow, said, "Get whatever you want, I'll pay. Just – anything you feel like." He left the blond standing there, casting a dubious glance back, perking slightly at the sight of Roxas actually scanning the nearest shelf.

As Hayner disappeared around the corner, heading for the dairy section, Roxas stared at the array of items set up in front of him, thoughts taking a short while to sort out what everything was. They were candy bars, set up conveniently close to the entrance, well within sight and reach of small bodies able to nag the nearest mommy into buying something. Roxas didn't want candy; the very thought made his stomach churn unhappily. He shuffled down the aisle, hopefully away from, only succeeding in venturing deeper into candy-country.

Frowning, he continued slowly on feet that were still bare, had been since he'd left his flip-flops at his apartment yesterday after – _shut down. _

All thought ceased, and for a few minutes, he stood in place and swayed with the natural, minor equilibrium adjustments his brain continued making.

Hayner could be heard muttering to himself over the date a few aisles over, a soothing anchor for the blond's frazzled nerves, for the seed within his mind that remained awake and aware and focused. It was smothered, blocked by layer upon layer of grey, by denial instincts stronger than he could fight, stronger than he even would have assumed his mind could produce. Nevertheless, it _was _there. He wasn't completely lost – he was hanging on, and eventually the shades would fall away, and he would be able to breathe properly again, _think _again. Until then, he just let Hayner take control, and waited to care that things were happening over which he had no control.

His face and feet hurt, but that didn't matter. There was a chance it wouldn't have even bothered him in his right mind – it was pain, and pain was something that could be dealt with, at least up until the point that it grew too intense to weather consciously.

As his eyes started focusing again, mind cautiously releasing its brief lock caused by a direction of thought better left alone, he became aware of a presence nearby. It wasn't Hayner – Hayner was now talking to the cashier, arguing over the price of a carton of milk, once again something to do with the date. Roxas swivelled his head, stared at the newcomer, who stood further along the aisle. It was a boy; about the same age as him, as far as he could tell. And the boy was looking at him.

Their eyes met, blue and blue, and for a long moment, neither one moved. Roxas was unconcerned with the way the boy refused to look away, completely unbothered by his steady expression, the way he wasn't intimidated by the way _Roxas _refused to look away. On Roxas' part, it was less of a challenge than simply – a place to be looking. The stranger had caught his attention, and he was watching him because of it. It was as simple as that, just as it had been with Seifer earlier.

The boy, however, unlike Seifer, didn't appear to consider their locked gazes to be any kind of competition – he was just… interested, it seemed. He studied Roxas with a slight frown, hands in the pockets of his jeans. He looked pale, Roxas observed neutrally. He looked about as tired as the blond knew himself to be, hair a spiked mess, smudges under his eyes.

The boy was the one to break it, eventually, turning his face forward, gazing blankly at the wares on the shelves. Evidently deciding he was in the wrong place, he headed back down the other way, vanished into the next aisle over, and Roxas no longer had anything to look at.

The electric doors slid apart a couple times over the next several minutes, and when Hayner came to find him, there were two more people in the store, but no sign of the boy anymore.

"Rox, come on," Hayner said quietly. He tightened his hold on the collection of stuff in his arms, swung his head over towards the register, and Roxas followed him to pay for everything. Evidently, Hayner had been back-and-forthing a little, as there were already bagged goods that were apparently for them. Among them was a carton of milk that had been freshly labelled 'on special' with a marker, due to go sour that very day. It looked like it had already been opened, and was packed in three different bags to contain any leaks.

"Okay," he announced, tipping the armful of goods onto the counter. "That's the last of it, ring it up."

The cashier did as bidden, and eventually informed them, "That's thirty-four ninety."

"Gotta be fucking kidding me," Hayner muttered, but reached into his pocket for his wallet, gesturing at Roxas. "You wanna start hooking these over your arms?"

Roxas studied the array of bags, looped three of them onto one wrist and swung them down. They were heavy, but he didn't try to redistribute the load; if the handles cut into his skin, they cut into his skin. No big deal.

Hayner, meanwhile, had swiped his card through the machine, was tapping out his PIN, pressed the small, green 'enter' button, and slid the device back across the counter. There was a moment of churning from the register, and then a series of high beeps. The cashier looked up dully, said, "Sorry, it didn't go through."

Hayner scowled. "What do you mean, 'didn't go through'? I got paid on Friday. The rent hasn't even come out of it yet; there's money in there, God damn it."

The cashier shrugged. "It says the PIN is incorrect. We can do it again." Hayner nodded at this, and they went through the process again, the clerk sliding his card through and pressing a button, twisting it around for him to re-enter his number. Carefully, face set in concentration, Hayner entered the code and pressed 'OK'.

Several seconds later, the register beeped again. The clerk shook his head, held up his card. "You want to try again? You've got one more chance, then your account gets restricted for the day."

Hayner glared in consternation. "But – I entered it _right. _I _know _my own _number." _He let out a growl, waved a hand. "Fine, do it again. I must be… spacing out or something." Massaging his brow, eyes squeezing shut for the moments that the guy went through the motions yet again, he muttered, "It's not like it'd be that big a surprise. Jesus, I haven't slept in such a long time. _And _I'm meant to be working today. _God." _

This time, he said the number firmly to himself first, then, concentrating fiercely, he slowly pressed each button. There was a breathless pause as he waited to see if it would be accepted – and then the beeping again. _"Son-of-a-bitch!" _He slapped the counter angrily, spinning away. "I don't fucking believe it!" The other occupants of the store were staring.

The cashier flicked a couple fingers at Roxas. "Can you put the groceries back up on the counter, please, sir?"

"No, wait," Hayner snapped. He turned to Roxas. "Did you bring your wallet?" The blond blinked at him emptily. "Oh, for _fuck's –" _Hayner grabbed his shoulder, jerked him slightly around, plunged a hand into his side pocket and withdrew the black wallet, ripped it open and pulling out the blond's card. "Okay, now _your _PIN, I _know."_ He quickly swiped it, punched in the code, and, this time, it went through…

…Only to be rejected on the basis of insufficient funds.

Hayner crashed his arms onto the counter, burying his head in them. "I. Can't. Handle. This. _Shit." _He lifted his face again, snarled sideways at Roxas, _"Why is there no money in your account? _What the hell do you do, spent it on booze and _hookers? _And why can I remember _your _number flawlessly, but fuck up my own _three goddamn times?" _

"You're gonna have to hand over those groceries," the cashier warned. "You can't afford anything."

"Okay, now, _wait!" _Hayner held up a finger, seething. "Just wait a goddamn minute, okay?" He dropped Roxas' wallet onto the counter, grabbed up his own and opened it, went digging through for a minute, the clerk growing increasingly impatient on the other side of the register.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to –"

"Shut the fuck up, I have forty bucks," Hayner snapped, withdrawing two twenties. Turning to Roxas, he said, "It's from the bet the other day, okay? I'll pay you your half back. Then you can pay it right the fuck back to _me, _for buying you a whole bunch of stuff to eat." He slammed the notes down, the cashier plucking them up, sliding them apart and virtually inspecting them for flaws. "Oh, come on!" Hayner complained loudly. "I didn't forge them with a handful of fucking Crayolas, okay? They're real! It's _big people _money, so you can just give me my _change, _and my crazy friend and I can get the fuck out of your hair, _with _our groceries."

Still looking suspicious, the guy nevertheless opened the register, exchanged the notes for a handful of smaller money and several coins, which Hayner snatched, threw into his pocket, followed by his and Roxas' wallets. He grabbed up the rest of the bags, promised, "I'll be back when my card works again, and I will send myself into _poverty, _I'll buy so fucking much." Adding, "C'mon, Rox," he whirled away and stomped towards the exit, emerging out into the humidity, the world having resumed its sticky, sweltering quality between the time it took to get in and out.

As they walked back towards the apartment, Hayner cursed his luck liberally, ranting about every little thing that was pissing him off right in that moment – except, that is, for Roxas. He still had enough presence of mind to not start attacking the continuingly reticent blond. "…Call the fucking _bank," _he was muttering, as they approached the building's entrance. "Fucking ask _them _what my stupid PIN is. _Three times! _What the _hell?" _Then, he stopped suddenly, all ire vanishing in an instant, blurting, startled, "Pence?"

The brown-haired boy waved, but there was no sign of his customary smile. He moved to meet the blond duo as they approached, Hayner instinctively moving in front of Roxas, blocking him from view. "Hey… Hey, buddy, what're you doing here at thistime of day?" he asked, unable to entirely keep the thread of nervousness from his voice. He swallowed, smiled. Pence met his gaze with patience.

"Seifer called me."

Hayner stared for a moment, then spat, "I fucking _knew _it, I _knew _I couldn't trust that bastard. Jeeze!"

"Roxas?" Pence's voice took on a gentle tone, as he reached out and determinedly nudged Hayner out of the way. Roxas gazed at him wordlessly, the brunet letting out a low gasp of shock. "I don't believe it… Oh, man, Roxas." He shook his head. "It's a good thing he _did _call me, Hay – I'm here to take some pictures. For evidence," he explained. "Seifer's been in enough brawls to know when injuries need to be preserved, I guess." He shrugged, lifted up his camera from its usual position looped around his neck. "So, how about we head upstairs and get this over with?" Lifting a hand to forestall Hayner's first demand, he added, "It's okay, Olette's still being kept in the dark about it. He called me in confidence. I understand."

Expression torn, Hayner looked uncertainly back at Roxas, then, slowly, started to nod. "Yeah… Yeah, okay. Let's just – get upstairs and put everything away, and then… do it. It's – it's a good plan." After a beat, he gave the afterthought of, "Thanks, Pence."

The boy shrugged. "I'm a friend, Hayner. It's what I'm here for." He hesitated. "Just – next time, how about _you _be the one to call me, okay? I mean, jeeze – _Seifer, _Hayner? You called _Seifer _before me or Olette?"

Shaking his head, he led the way up, trailed by Hayner, who shamefacedly shepherded Roxas, the three of them tramping upstairs, the sounds of the grocery bags banging against their legs following them all the way.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **This chapter was a slow death to write, is necessary to read, and will thrill absolutely _no one. _Not unless you find a chapter of _utterly boring tail-chasing _to be suspenseful. /gouges out eyes with a moan/ BEAR WITH ME, PLEASE DO. At least my Muse has returned to me now :3

CHAPTER ELEVEN

_Flash._

Click.

…_Flash._

Click.

"Turn his head a little to the side," Pence murmured, watching through the viewfinder. Hayner did as commanded, taking Roxas' chin gently and twisting it, exposing the wound along his cheek for the brunet to capture from all angles. The collection of instant photos from Pence's hobby camera was slowly growing on the coffee table, the boy muttering to himself about lighting as he shifted back and forth, clicking time and time again. Hayner sat quietly beside Roxas, who had yet to even speak a word to Pence, and worriedly waited for the grim modelling session to come to a close, helping where he could.

Pence was being sensitive enough to not try and force Roxas to speak. Although he was fairly accustomed to Roxas' behaviour in one of his grey moods, only Hayner had experienced the full brunt of it in the past, and it seemed like the brunet had caught onto this fact and decided to keep his mouth shut. If Hayner was acting like it was relatively normal, then Pence wouldn't try to interfere. He just kept taking pictures.

At last, after twenty pictures had been placed upon the table, Pence called a halt to it all. "This ought to be enough," he stated, picking them up and flipping through critically. "It'll be pretty plain to whoever looks at them that Roxas has been badly assaulted." Pushing them into a pile and handing them over to Hayner, he added, "He needs to get it stitched up, Hayner, or it's going to scar, and there might be an infection setting in." He leaned over, waved a finger at the inflammation ringing the puckered groove on the top picture. "See that? That's what I'm talking about."

"Yeah, Pence, alright," Hayner replied, disgruntled. "I heard you, and I know." He looked at each one in turn, shaking his head slightly. "It looks like someone mistook his face for something cold and vanilla and attacked him with a goddamn ice-cream scoop. Like… a mini one."

Pence nodded. "I noticed that. It's not like a knife-slash or anything. It's a weird injury." He shrugged. "I guess we can just be thankful that it wasn't his eye."

Hayner shuddered. "Nice thought, Pence. Way to lighten the conversation."

The brunet sighed, edged around the coffee table and sat down on it, his knees bumping Roxas'. He paused, distracted for a moment, glancing down to the side. "…Didn't there used to be a bowl of trail-mix there?"

Hayner shut his eyes, pressed his knuckles into them with a moan. "Used to," he agreed. _"Big _used to."

Pence shook off his confusion, focused his attention on Roxas, leaned forward and tried to engage him in eye-contact. He was moderately successful in that Roxas did look at him… but there didn't seem to be a whole heap of interest in those blue eyes. "Okay… Roxas?" he said cautiously, keeping his tone smooth and soft. "Can you tell me some of what happened to you yesterday?"

There was a pause. Hayner shook his head, slumping back against the couch. "It's no use, man, he's not talking about it." His voice was heavy. "The most he did was identify the guy to me, but he hasn't told me any details at _all. _Everything I know, I know because Seifer went with his buddies and checked the apartment out."

Pence thought for a moment. "I might go there during my lunch break," he said. "I'll take some photos of the debris, and there'll probably be blood around…"

Hayner rubbed his forehead, eyes widening. "That's… fucking morbid, man."

"It'll help towards Roxas' case, though," the brunet insisted. "If we can prove without a doubt that Roxas got hurt during an actual attack, it'll make it more likely that we can nail the guy. I mean, you've got a first name, you've got a physical description, you've got Roxas' testimony once he starts talking – and now we'll have solid visual evidence to back it up."

"I'll burn your photos."

Both boys froze in shock, gazes swinging around to where Roxas was still steadfastly staring at Pence. His eyes bore into the brunet, cold and unfeeling. Pence spluttered, "W-what?"

"I will burn your photos." The blond's gaze narrowed slightly. "They won't be used for evidence. I don't give permission for that."

Pence drew back slightly, blinking rapidly. "Roxas…"

"That's my final word," he said, and the ice in his voice… oh, it barely sounded like Roxas at all.

The other two were… quiet. For a long few minutes, there was silence between them, breathed in and out, Hayner and Pence struggling, dazed, to reconcile this suddenly chilly creature with the Roxas they knew and loved. Hayner was… especially stunned – this was a new plateau of grey. This wasn't even _proper _grey anymore – it was getting… dark.

Before Pence could form a protest on the matter, Hayner sat forward and shoved the pictures into his chest. Eyes hard, brows lowered, he said slowly, "That's fine, _right, _Pence? If Roxas doesn't want us to use them, _we won't." _He leaned back. "So just take them home and put them in a dark room, Pence-y boy. They're not necessary here." He clapped Roxas on the shoulder, the boy swaying with the motion. "Right, Rox?"

"…Right," the blond muttered. Hayner nodded sharply.

"Then it's settled – no problems." He slapped his knees, starting to stand, forcing cheer into his tone as he demanded, "Now – who wants a microwave burrito? Roxas, I know you're in on this." Receiving a faint nod from the blond, he turned his gaze expectantly to Pence. "You too?"

Pence stared. "...Sure. I'll just pretend it's a… breakfast burrito."

"Fucking ace." Hayner vacated, heading for the kitchen, every muscle impossibly stiff. He swung open the freezer, brought out the solid, wrapped lumps, and shoved them into the small, elevated oven bolted to the bracket in the wall. He programmed the time, stepped back with fists on hips, and, despite every warning his mother had ever given him on the detriment it would do to his eyes, watched the burritos rotate on the plate.

There was a shuffle from his left, glance darting over, a scowl forming at the sight of Pence. "What are you doing?" he asked in a harsh whisper. "Get back out there, man, he'll think we're talking about him."

Eyes wide, Pence demanded, "Don't you _want _to talk about him?"

Grabbing a handful of his sleeve, Hayner hissed, _"Not _while he's like _this – _he's _out _of it, Pence, but he's not _stupid, _for Christ's sake. Stay with him. Make him forget about the fucking photos."

"But –!"

Hayner let him go, cut him off, "Get some cups and the milk from the refrigerator. Take them out there and see if you can get him to help pour us each a glass. We've gotta get him interacting as much as possible."

Pence gazed at him for a long moment, brows drawn together in concern, obviously completely at a loss. "I – I want to _help, _Hayner."

"Yeah?" The blond was back to watching the burritos cook. "Then do as I said. Get the cups. I want some fucking milk."

Pence closed his eyes, bowed his head slightly before shaking it with a sigh. When he straightened again, he headed for the refrigerator, swung it open and bent down. A hand on the carton, he tipped it back slightly, frowned. "Hayner – this milk is out of date."

"No, it's _not," _Hayner growled,"it still has _today, _I got it for a _dollar. _It is _dollar _milk, Pence. That makes it taste okay."

Pence rolled his eyes, pulled out the carton, popped the lid and sniffed at it suspiciously as he headed for the cupboard to get cups. He hesitated as he looped their handles over one finger, the ceramic clicking quietly together as he glanced back towards the door.

"Just go, Pence," said Hayner quietly. "He'll be wondering where you are."

"…Is he wondering _anything _right now?" the brunet asked in dry response, but obeyed, returning to the sitting room.

When Hayner eventually brought the burritos out, Roxas was sitting in precisely the same position, a mug clasped between his hands, sipping calmly. Pence, resigned to it all by now, had stopped resisting and was doing likewise at his side, all sign of the photos long gone. Hayner sat between them, and, in silence, the three males consumed the 7-11 goods.

Once he'd finished, Pence glanced at his watch. "I'm going to have to get going, guys. I came right over when Seifer called, and I have some things to get ready for work."

Hayner nodded, covered his mouth as he swallowed some milk, setting his mug down on the table. "Alright, man," he said hoarsely, licking his lips and standing, folding his hands behind his head and stretching. "Listen, I appreciate you coming around. And – just, yeah, everything."

He accompanied Pence to the door, the brunet pausing, and despite the warning in Hayner's eyes, murmured, "You know this is beyond the call of duty, don't you, Hay? Take care of Roxas, sure, he's been through something bad – but he's a big boy."

"Good-bye, Pence," Hayner said, deliberately loud, between his teeth, pulling the door open. Pence grimaced.

"Ever consider that you might be enabling his behaviour by coddling him like this?"

"You have a nice day, too." Hayner pushed him out the door. "And you're welcome for breakfast." The door slammed, a little more plaster coming loose from the hole below the light switch and crumbling lightly down the wall. He took a moment to compose himself, before turning back to his friend with a tight smile. "Are you still hungry, Rox?"

"No," the blond said quietly. The smile growing thinner, Hayner drew in a breath through his nose, eyes overbright as crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well. I'll just put the milk away before it goes sour, and then, I don't know. What's the time, Roxas?" When the boy didn't respond, Hayner clicked his fingers crisply a few times. "Hey – hey, Roxas, talk to me. I don't care if you don't care about the time. Look at your watch and tell me what the pretty numbers say."

Roxas sent him a flat look. "I'm not an infant. Don't talk to me like that."

"Then start acting like a goddamn human being," Hayner returned curtly. For a long minute, the two blonds locked gazes, Hayner determined, Roxas with decreasing blankness, thank God. Even if he started getting aggressive, like he had with the pictures, that would be better than the empty, shell-like state he'd been exhibiting with only brief hiccups ever since Hayner had got home the night before.

"I need to know the time," said Hayner slowly, "so that I can call _our boss, _and let her know that neither of us is fit for _work _today." Eyebrows rising, he persisted, irritated by the fact that everything Pence had said had just been an echo of the traitorous little voice in Hayner's head that had been in residence for a while, "Remember Aerith? Nice lady who pays our bills for us? Makes it so we can buy one-dollar milk and shitty microwave burritos, and maybe pay our rent from time to time?"

As he had expected, for a long minute, there was nothing. He waited, keeping his eyes on Roxas', not ready yet to relent. Then, miracle of miracles, the spike-haired blond shifted, the fabric of the sofa rustling slightly beneath him, and lifted his wrist. A couple heartbeats passed. "…You could call her. She'll be there sorting the early orders."

Hayner's smile relaxed into a small, genuine, exhausted one. "Okay. I'll do that, then. Get you _another _day off, you goddamn moocher." He dug out his phone, dialled the shop, waited patiently until the woman on the other end picked up. "Aerith!"

He wandered away, took to the short hallway to pace back and forth as he explained to their employer why she was going to be flying solo for a day. Roxas heard snatches of, "– were in ER all night, the doctors there are so overworked," and "He'll be alright, just watch out for any red-haired dudes today, okay?"

When the blond finally came off the phone with a sigh, Roxas observed, "You lied to her about the ER."

With a pleasant smile, Hayner asked, "Would you rather I tell her the _truth, _Roxas? That you're more likely to throw all her flowers onto the railway tracks when a _train_ is coming past than actually deliver them?" As Roxas said nothing, he shrugged, slipping the phone away again. "Either way, she's fine with it. I told her the truth of the attack, at least, so she'll be on alert, and she said she hopes you're okay – but we both have to get there early tomorrow. There's some big delivery due at that gigantic place we took the pots to the other day." Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he dragged it up over his stomach, saying, "Until then – I'm having a shower and a nap." He paused with the shirt at his shoulders, head tilting, turning as he was halfway out of the room and asking, "Nothing really _did _go wrong or weird at that place the other day, did it? You're cool with working there again?"

Roxas was silent for a moment, but this was nothing out of the ordinary. "…Yeah. It's not a problem."

Nodding, Hayner disappeared, and for a while the apartment slowly filled with steam. Roxas lay down with his head on the arm of the sofa, folding his hands over his stomach, and stared at the ceiling.

The pots.

The pots, the pots, the pots.

The house with the pots.

Part of him wanted to care that he would eventually be going back there, but it belonged to that isolated little seed, riiiight at the back there. _It _cared. Roxas didn't. But he would, he knew it was going to seep through eventually, and he kind of wished he could have one of the rare blackouts he experienced sometimes during an episode, where he would just – cease to exist for a while.

The fact that he _could _wish for something was also a worrying sign that everything was starting to settle. That he found anything worrying at all – another one. It was just one indicator after another that soon he'd be back to normal, and then… that was when he'd have to face life again.

He wanted to retreat. He wanted to flee further into his mind, find a place that wasn't touching anything, and lie there for a while, in the darkness.

"That isn't your decision to make."

Roxas jolted, eyes springing open from where he hadn't realised they'd fluttered shut against his cheeks. He lifted his head with a jerk, looking around the apartment sharply. There was no one about – the shower was still running, the splatter of drops falling from a body easily audible, Hayner's occasional hard exhalations loud as he spat water away from his mouth. They were regular sounds that Roxas was well accustomed to – he shouldn't have been able to hear any voices, any words. Not unless Hayner started singing, or talking to himself, which he hadn't. The tone had been completely different, the pitch softer than Hayner's bold voice. Roxas… _should _have been… entirely alone.

And, looking around, he found that he _was. _

_That isn't your decision to make. _

Had he imagined those words? Was his subconscious rising up to put him in his place?

He hated the fact that he actually wanted to know.

With a groan, his head fell back, eyes slipping shut, hands pressing against them. "No, no, no," he whispered. "Stay down. I don't… I don't want to think… _I don't care." _Covering his eyes with the back of his hand, he added, barely audibly, "Just… stay hidden. You're not welcome here."

There was no response, from anything inside or out of his mind. He was, after all, the only person in the room.

Hayner finished his shower, the apartment filling with sudden silence. The door opened, the bathroom belching steam, the dripping blond shuffling out and heading for the bedroom. Trailing a cloud of humidity, towel wrapped around his middle, he groaned loudly, "Oh, my _God, _that felt good." Throwing a look over to the couch, he demanded, "How long has it been since you had a shower, Roxas? I mean, not to put too fine a point on it or anything, but you kind of reek." He shrugged, entering his bedroom, voice drifting out as he continued, "I wasn't saying anything _before _because, you know, who knew _which _one of us it was? But, now that I'm nice and clean again, I get to hop on my high horse and say: Buddy, you stink. Of, like, days-old sweat and deodorant." Moments later, he emerged wearing a pair of damp boxers and a tank top, slowly rubbing the towel over his hair. Glancing around the airtight apartment, he muttered, "It's getting hot in here." He went to the sliding glass door, pushed it across to let whatever stray sea-breeze in that decided to go breathing past.

Returning to the sofa, Hayner propped his elbows up on the back of it, peering down at the blond's covered face. He grimaced, shook his head, reached down and carefully took hold of Roxas' wrist, tugging it away. Roxas allowed him to, didn't resist as Hayner laid the hand out across his stomach, taking the other one and doing the same, revealing blue eyes once again. The tall blond sighed, resting his chin on his forearms as he gazed down at his friend's face. "Look at you, Rox. All beat up." Lips curling down at the corners, he asked, "Can I at _least _put a plaster over it or something? It looks gross, and it's going to get shit in it, dirt and stuff. We'll take you to the doctor after work tomorrow or something, if you're acting normal again."

When Roxas didn't protest, Hayner took this to be his permission, straightened and went and got the materials from the bathroom. When he returned, he came around to the front of the couch, sat on the edge of the cushion and nudged back a little, pushing Roxas' hip to give himself more room when the blond didn't automatically shift for him.

Lifting a strong-smelling washcloth, he warned, "This'll probably sting. I diluted some antibacterial in the basin, but I deliberately made it a little strong." Without pausing to allow Roxas to process this, he applied the warm cloth directly to the wound. Roxas flinched, hissed in slightly, eyelashes twitching, but other than this, he was as unresponsive to the pain as he had been last night. This, though, wasn't such a big deal; it was just like he had been with his bruised knuckles when he'd been in a fine mood in the back of Aerith's van. Roxas just never reacted much to pain. His threshold must have been good. Hayner understood this – after all his years of Struggle competitions, and spending his teens getting into scuffles with the likes of Seifer, he was no stranger to the ins and outs of physical woes.

He wondered, briefly, what had been in Roxas' past to condition _him _to it. The blond had never spoken much about anything before Twilight Town, and, out of respect for what had seemed like his discomfort at the subject… none of them had ever asked.

As Roxas' eyes slipped automatically shut at the faint sting of the evaporating disinfectant, Hayner allowed his worry and regret to resurface, calmer than it had been since before the shower, but still strong enough to pack a punch. Maybe if he'd dug more, he'd actually have some idea of what was going on with his friend of half a year – maybe he could have headed the red-haired guy off when he'd first come sniffing around, even just delivered Roxas a _warning. _Hindsight was a spiteful little bitch he could live without.

He finished up with the washcloth, dried the edges of the gash with one untouched corner of it, then stripped the plaster of its wrapping and lined it up. He'd got the biggest size in the multipack in the medicine cabinet, trying to avoid any of the adhesive touching the actual site. He'd suffered too-small ones in the past, and oh, boy, pulling them off had been even more fun than sustaining the injuries themselves.

He set it carefully, with familiarity, smoothing the edges against Roxas' skin, before drawing back to inspect his efforts. For the first time since he'd realising that Roxas had been hurt, Hayner relaxed a little. Seeing it patched up like this was – reassuring. It bespoke of things moving in good directions. Pretty soon, this whole mess would be over. A week from now, a month from now… He couldn't wait for this to become a bad memory.

"Okay," he said softly. "You're done." He smiled as Roxas opened his eyes. "I don't know about you, but I am _shattered, _man. I'm going to go sleep for a few hours, try and catch up. If you don't feel like sleeping alone, you can come take half the bed… but if I wake up and find you spooning me, there'll be trouble." He smirked.

Roxas regarded him stonily. "I'm not going to sleep, Hayner."

The other blond's expression settled into a frown. "Why not? You don't need to be afraid, Rox, that Axel guy can't –"

"No."

It was the exact same tone of voice he'd used when refusing to allow the photographs to be used to bulk up his accusation against the guy. It brooked no argument, it allowed _nothing, _and any disagreement would be met with increasing ice. Hayner was too unfamiliar with this side of Roxas to take it on – it was back towards that darker side of the grey, and he didn't want to tip the blond into it.

So, reluctantly, he said, "Okay... No one's going to make you sleep. I mean, it's not like I can exactly knock you out…"

"No," responded Roxas flatly, "you can't." Hayner scowled a little, but stood.

"Okay, but I'm still gonna sleep. I can't keep going like this. Just… don't go anywhere, okay? I hate when you vanish on me."

Roxas shrugged. "I've got nowhere to be," he said coolly – not the greatest of guarantees, but as much as Hayner could count on right now. He was running on nothing but hot air and stubbornness. His tired body was crying out for rest, and he'd reached the point where he'd have let it seduce him on a crowded train. Enough was enough.

"Well… you know where I am if you need me," he said wearily. "And there's stuff if you want to eat, so just… yeah. Okay." He stood, wrapping the towel around his shoulders, scrunching up the little pieces of plaster wrapper. "G'night, Rox. I hope you feel better."

He shuffled out of the room, leaving Roxas alone. The spike-haired blond listened to him moving around in the bedroom, heard the slide of a drawer open and shut… and then the apartment was silent. Noises filtered in from the street, entering where the mythical cool breeze refused to, and Roxas turned his head, stared at the blank TV, waiting for something to come along and require his attention.

At no point during the day, as Hayner slumbered deeply in the next room, did he close his eyes for more than a few seconds. He simply refused to.

At five-thirty, the sun dipping into the realms of twilight, there was a heavy rapping at the door. Roxas jerked up out of his staring stupor in an instant, flooded with shock and then a second of acute relief – he had been drifting. His eyes had been open, but his mind had been getting further and further away. Much longer of that, and he'd have started dozing. Dozing would be followed by sleep – and then vulnerability too overwhelming for him to even contemplate. It made him shiver to think how close he'd come.

It all blew away, though, the moment he registered exactly what noise had startled him up. Another steady knock, loud and confident, but unlike the last time someone had visited, there was no command from Seifer to be let in – yet, it was unmistakeably male. Or, at the very least, it wasn't Pence, and it wasn't Olette – not even an angry Olette.

As he struggled to rise, Hayner came bursting out of the bedroom, hair unkempt, eyes wild, the high energy of adrenaline warring with the low alertness of utmost fatigue. "Stay where you are!" the taller blond ordered quickly, words tumbling over each other out of his mouth as he struggled to exist more swiftly. He stumbled towards the door, and Roxas, in stark disobedience, jumped off the sofa and brought up the rear.

It wasn't Axel. It couldn't be Axel. Axel was holed up somewhere with a face that was his _enemy, _filled to the brim with agony.

So why was it so damn hard to breathe?

_God fucking damn it! _He was caring again. He was thinking, he was feeling, and he didn't _want _to. Every part of his psyche screamed for him to run from this, this _consciousness, _but his mind couldn't maintain it. He'd had his hiccup in sanity – it was time to resume full-capacity. Short of going completely and utterly mad, _voluntarily, _there was nothing he could do to fight it. And – it just wasn't _worth _that.

He had to admit that in that split-second, he was disappointed with himself. The moment he realised that he _wanted _to escape everything, couldn't deal with the full impact of having been attacked, he felt ashamed, weak. Here was Hayner, busting his balls for Roxas to keep him safe until he was back to normal, and Roxas – hell, given his own way, there was a good chance he _wouldn't _be back.

He'd thought he was stronger than this. It was… a disillusioning sort of blow.

Hayner got to the door first, placed a hand on the handle, the other on the wall, and after a moment's hesitation, demanded, "Who's there?"

Muffled by the wood, a voice came, "It's uh, me. Seifer. And… your boss is here, too."

Hayner drew back slightly in bewilderment. "Seifer?" As he started to unlock, he paused. "Wait – _Aerith?" _He swung the door open, revealed Seifer's large frame, the man leaning against the wall… and, beside him, looking positively dainty in comparison, stood Aerith, smiling gently.

"Hayner," she greeted, "it's so nice to see you. I thought I'd drop by and see how you're both going." She laid a hand on Seifer's arm. "I bumped into Seifer on the tram – isn't it funny, we both had the same idea."

"Oh, wow, that's great," Hayner agreed, shooting the man a sharp glance and wondering what, if anything, he might have said to her. He gazed coolly back.

"I guess great minds just think alike," he supposed, a hint of his regular cocky smirk in place. "I always figured I was one of them, and now your boss has confirmed it for me." As Aerith laughed, Seifer added, "So, are you going to invite us in, or what? As picturesque as the hallway is, I'd kind of like to put my feet up." Eyes narrowing, he asked, "Or is this an awkward time for you two?"

Hayner glanced back over his shoulder at Roxas, who stood a few feet away, following the conversation with wide eyes. When he hesitated, the blue-eyed blond inclined his head. "You can't keep them standing out there all afternoon," he pointed out quietly.

Hayner's expression lifting slightly, he returned his attention to the visitors, stepped back and opened the door to allow entry. Aerith's gaze went instantly to the large plaster covering half of Roxas' cheek, the good nature on her face morphing into concern. She went straight to him, the quick movement that made him flinch slightly, but she didn't notice.

Hayner watched with concern as the woman carefully placed her palms against his jaw, angling his face to better see the plaster. "Uh, careful of it, Aerith," he warned nervously. "Remember, the stitches are still new."

"Oh, that's right," Seifer said dryly. "I'd forgotten that you spent all night in the emergency room. Lucky your boss was kind enough to remind me."

"Yeah." Hayner shot him a hard look. "ER was pretty busy last night. It's why we got the day off today. We _were _up until dawn, after all."

"You were," Seifer conceded, swinging a plastic bag that smelled like hot food. Aerith was virtually oblivious to the exchange as she inspected him with trepidation.

"How are you feeling today, Roxas?" She frowned, started to pick at the corner of the plaster, muttering, "Let's have a look at these…"

"Ah!" Roxas ducked away quickly, planting a hand over the white patch, smoothing the adhesive back down. "Uh, please don't, Aerith. It… it looks…"

"It's pretty gross," Seifer contributed lightly. "Roxas just about passes out the instant anyone looks at it. He's kind of a wuss like that." Aerith frowned around at him, but for the moment relented.

"Alright then. I don't want to upset you, Roxas." Unhappily, she replaced her hands on him, his shoulders this time, gazing into his eyes earnestly. "You really should have gone to the police already, though."

"Ah, yeah, perhaps," Hayner intervened hastily, stepping up quickly beside his friend. "But Roxas was so out of it, it wouldn't have done any good. It's – it's on our list of things to do. Tomorrow. First thing."

Regretfully, the woman shook her head, eyes conveying pain as she softly corrected, "I'm sorry, but it will have to be after." She sighed. "The order for the dozens of baskets has to be filled. They refuse to order through anyone else, and have offered high compensation for the inconvenience." She hesitated. "I actually called the client today, and tried to alter the arrangement, after hearing about Roxas' attack." The blond stiffened under her touch, her gaze darting to him sympathetically. "But they simply refused. We have to be delivering _by _seven a.m., to meet the deadline for a brunch party they owner is hosting."

Disgruntled, Seifer snorted, "Sounds about right. They come in, buy up the coast, and then start ordering us around to cater for their fancy-ass parties."

"Yeah, and no one _asked you, _Seifer," Hayner said sharply. "This is Aerith's business, it's what we're paid to do, so cram it." He waved a hand at him. "If you brought food, you can start getting it out in the kitchen. Stop eavesdropping on our conversation."

"I didn't bring it," Seifer smiled dangerously.

"That was me," Aerith agreed, raising a hand against her body. "Seifer was kind enough to offer to carry it up for me." She sent her employees affectionate looks. "I didn't think you'd be too interested in cooking, so I brought over some simple food from The Usual Spot, just a couple of their meals. I hope that's okay?" She glanced between them, seeking belated permission to mother her favoured monkey-boys. Then she was suddenly struck by a thought, saying apologetically to Seifer, "I'm sorry, I didn't think to bring extra."

Seifer waved her off. "It's not up to you to feed me," he said dismissively, heading for the kitchen. Hayner shook his head with exasperated gratitude.

"It's not up to you to feed us, either. Thanks, Aerith – we seriously appreciate the gesture."

"There's only… so many times you can microwave burritos," Roxas muttered, drawing a mock-glare from Hayner.

"Hey, I _fed _you, didn't I?"

With a slight giggle, Aerith covered her mouth. "I have to agree with Roxas."

"Yeah, well…" Hayner was, in contrast to his attitude, completely relieved that Roxas was even choosing to speak, had made a humorous remark, as half-hearted as it had been. When he met the blond's blue eyes, there was humanity within them. "You're right," he grinned.

Turning back to Roxas, allowing seriousness to reinstate itself, Aerith continued on the previous topic. "I'm sorry that I can't allow you to go earlier than that. I can't even pick you up – the order's so large, I'll be working late tonight as it is."

Guiltily, Hayner scratched the back of his head. "I'm… sorry for bailing on you today."

She waved a hand gravely. "Don't even think about it," she warned. "There are plenty of things more important than a big order – Roxas' health and safety is way up the top there."

"It's no big deal," Roxas said quietly, at last involving himself in the conversation, though his eyes were averted towards their feet. "I prefer going later, anyway. It'll give me a chance to gather all my thoughts. And our friend came over earlier and took pictures of my face, so it'll all add up."

Hayner wanted abruptly to sit down, take his head in his hands, and take a few unsteady, deep breaths. Oh, Jesus. It was all coming together. His relief was – just about smothering in its intensity. He nodded shakily. "Yeah. What he said," he told Aerith, whose mouth twitched up, eyebrows knitting together.

"Okay, then. Well, I'll have to get back to the store – I closed up early to finish tomorrow's order, and come and see you both." She turned to Roxas, gathered him into a hug. "Are you going to be okay for it, though?" she asked. "I don't want you doing more than you're capable of…"

He reached around, patted her uncertainly between the shoulder-blades. "Sure, Aerith," he said uneasily. "I'll be… fine."

She drew back with a watery smile. "Make sure of it." She went to Hayner, repeated the treatment, then straightened, sniffed, and tried to not look too worried. "I'll see you tomorrow then – six a.m., I'm afraid, to start loading up the van." She stepped back towards the door, started to let herself out, then paused. "Oh, by the way … I heard more today about the florist across town that was first booked for the Traverse Town wedding – the one that was burnt down."

The two males stiffened, paying attention. "Yeah?" Hayner asked tensely. "What's the verdict on it all?"

Aerith hesitated. "…It was definitely arson." Both blonds' eyes widened.

"No shit," Hayner breathed. She nodded grimly.

"There was even a witness, a man walking his dog," she confided. "He saw a tall person in a black coat leaving the scene of it all, just before the flames got going… but apparently their head was covered by a hood. The witness didn't know anything much, other than that it looked like a man, from the look of his frame." She lifted a shoulder. "So, we'll have to keep an eye out for any suspicious people. I was questioned about it, since I then got the job, but I think it's quite obvious that it's the work of some kind of vandal or pyromaniac."

Hayner clicked his tongue unhappily. "Well… you watch _out, _okay? If anything weird seems to be happening, call me, like, _straight away."_

She laughed slightly. "Don't worry. I've invited a couple of friend to stay with me while I work tonight. There's nothing to worry about." Casting one last fond look over them, she added, "I just thought I'd let you know. Take care, okay, boys?"

Hayner linked the chain after the door had shut, engaging the dead-bolt, a frown in place. He stood and stared hard for a while at the painted-white wood, discontent stamped all over his features. "Well… as long as someone's there with her," he muttered. He exhaled slowly, threw a glance over at Roxas. "Wow, nothing like a visit from Aerith, huh? She brings all _sorts _of fun information." Then he smiled, a genuinely happy look on his face as he said, "But you're going to let us use the photos, Rox – that's fantastic. It's really going to help out, I swear." He laughed. "Like Pence said, Seifer knows this sort of thing best!"

"Seifer knows _shit _loads of stuff best," came a growl from the kitchen. "You just need to hurry up and get with the program."

Hayner scowled, turned and barked, "Who asked you, anyway?"

"It's not going to actually happen, Hay. I was lying," Roxas said calmly. Hayner's posture went rigid. He whipped back with a glare.

"What?"

"I'm not letting you use the pictures. I just said that to make Aerith stop feeling guilty."

Hayner blinked at him, struggled for a moment, said, "But… you're…" Helplessly, he met Roxas' gaze, expression confused. "You're getting better, aren't you? I mean – " He laughed slightly, an incredulous sound. "The fact that you'd care enough to tell Aerith a lie just goes to _show…"_

"You can't use them, Hayner. I told you, didn't I?" Roxas was unwavering in his certainty. "You won't use them against me."

Hayner frowned. _"Against _you? Roxas, you know I'd never…"

"No." Sharp. Blue eyes hard, boring into hazel. "Just listen to me, Hayner, listen and stop talking for a second… _No." _

Hayner floundered for a moment, trying to make sense of the sudden about-face between the almost _easygoing _Roxas that had been around while Aerith had been in the room, and now seemed to have _vanished. _Leaning close, he demanded intently, _"Why? _I could understand it when you were being weird, but I can tell you're _improving. _This isn't you being childishly _stubborn _anymore…" He trailed off for a moment, then asked, with genuine bewilderment, _"Is _it?" He needed some confirmation, a direction, some rationality to cling to, and so far, Roxas wasn't providing.

"Do you really need a reason?" the blond asked. Hayner's eyes just about bugged from their sockets.

"Hell _yes, _I need a goddamn reason! My best friend gets attacked by a mystery stranger, goes into the darkest fucking grey I've ever seen as a direct result, you're _refusing _to sleep, refusing to let me try to _help – _all I want to do is _help _you – and if you're going to shut me the hell up on the subject, I'm going to need a _damn _good reason!" He swayed back, lifted a finger to jab in Roxas' direction. "I gave up some much needed venting time to take care of you," he reminded him quietly. "Now, I did _not _mean the stuff I said to you when we got back from Traverse, but that anger was something I _needed _to express, and I _swallowed _it to help you. I took your punch, I lost an entire night's sleep, _I _patched up that gash on your face…" He broke off with a loud breath, pinching his eyes shut with a thumb and forefinger. "And I'm getting really, really sick of having to rant at you like this. The fact of it is that I _deserve _a fucking good reason to not take those pictures in."

Roxas, who had stood silently, blankly, throughout the monologue, regarded him levelly. "…In that case, I won't be going to the police. At all."

Hayner stared at this, the words going in but not processing. Roxas might as well have been speaking another language for all he understood the statement that had been imparted.

Outside, like a switch had been thrown, the heat-drawn crickets erupted into song, their dry rattling swelling within seconds, the noise sweeping in through the open patio door. For a minute, all there was was their music.

At last, someone spoke. "You're making a mistake, there, chicken-wuss." Both boys twisted, displeased at the lilting intrusion. Seifer stood leaning against the kitchen's doorframe, a faint trace of obligatory smirk in place, belied by the seriousness in his eyes.

Glowering, Hayner snapped, "Weren't you supposed to be in there to _stop _this little butting-in problem of yours?"

Seifer exhaled a groan, eyes rolling. _"How _many _times _am I going to have to explain that you _completely _waived that right the second you called me?"

With a huff, Hayner asked, "What are you even doing here? I don't recall calling you in the last twelve hours. Aren't you meant to be appeasing Olette?"

"She's been appeased," Seifer responded bluntly. "A whole day passed while you were sleeping, Hayner – a lot happened. For one thing…" He turned his gaze to Roxas. "I got a couple people together – not Rai, he's still out of commission since snorting your fucking _carpet _and taking a happy breath of mace – and we scoured the town with the info we had." He looked at Hayner, shrugged. "We couldn't find anyone matching the name or description of the guy that did this."

"…Thanks for trying," Hayner muttered, eyes low.

Seifer returned his attention to Roxas. "Any vigilante ideas you might have about taking this guy on yourself need to get out of your skull, Roxas. You should go to the cops."

The spike-haired blond's eyes narrowed, as if something sharp was balancing on the tip of his tongue… but it subsided after a moment's thought. In the end, he softly said, "It's not safe. Going to the police. It's not… secure enough."

"What are you _talking _about?" Hayner demanded, cut off by a raised hand from Seifer, who was looking curious more than anything.

"You don't feel safe going to them? You think the guy will find out, maybe come after you?"

Roxas slowly lifted his shoulders. "I won't do it. I'm not going to file a report."

"So, you _are _scared," Seifer surmised. When Hayner glared at him, he lifted both hands in a pacifying gesture, though his eyes were more alert than they had been at any prior point. "What _I _want to know," he said shrewdly, "is _what _you're scared of. Logic says it's gotta be the dude…" He studied Roxas sceptically. "But the harder you fight – the fact that you kept it all secret until the guy actually hurt you – makes my gut instinct tell me that there _is _a reason, a _good _one… and one which you're not telling anyone."

Almost disappointed by this theory, Roxas sent him a flat look. "I gave my reason already, remember? Stop being dramatic."

"You want to talk 'dramatic' for a moment, Roxas?" the man retorted. "Try the last twenty-four hours on for size, I think you'll find it fits _perfectly." _

Roxas looked automatically to Hayner for some form of defence, realising with a jolt of surprise that the other blond wasn't going to jump in.

…He was on Seifer's side.

After a moment, the shorter blond sighed. "You can think what you want, Seifer. Spin conspiracy theories with me at the core, if it makes you happy." He shrugged, continued simply, "But it's the truth, I don't feel _safe _going to the police." He met Hayner's eyes steadily. "I don't feel safe… when I sleep. And I'm sorry I hit you. I am now. I _am." _

The sound of the crickets took precedence once again, as both Seifer and Roxas waited to hear whether Hayner would buy this, and let it drop, or pursue the matter further. His face was dipped low, so that neither one could properly gauge his expression, and the silence of voices grew deeper.

When Hayner did at last speak, it was almost inaudible, hoarse, each word riding his breaths heavy with resignation.

"If that's the way you really feel, then…I think… you need help, Roxas. That's just… not normal." Hazel eyes rose slowly to meet shocked blue. "What you said just now – that wasn't normal." He grimaced, swallowed. "I think this might be... This is beyond the call of duty for me. I don't want to enable you any more... than I already have."

Roxas was feeling enough by this point to feel the hurt, followed closely by the sting of betrayal.

On that note, the sun sank below the horizon, and their first day's grace drew to a close.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **I'm not sure yet if I'll add a fourth chapter to this block of updating or not – I'll see how I feel in a day or two. My initial plan was to reach a certain scene before moving on, but hell, we'll be here for_ever _if I do XD

CHAPTER TWELVE

In a room otherwise filled with darkness, screens flickered. A soft, electronic glow fell across the man that sat in the rickety chair in front of them, his head angled slightly back as he regarded the figure that walked through them, the footage on a loop that showed the boy again, and again.

The man's face was wrapped in weeks old bandaging, his clothing tired and several days unwashed, to match how long he'd been sitting there. His eyes were strained, gritty, bloodshot, but as focused as ever, endlessly scrutinising. His exhaustion was thick, but manageable; it was worth the discomfort, every moment of it, to be there at all.

After all, to all intents and purposes, he should have been dead.

One boot scraped the cold concrete ground as he adjusted the position of his left leg, fingers briefly tightening on the arms of the seat, but other than that, he was still.

Behind him, a door opened, heavy footsteps entering the room, bringing a burst of warmer air swirling in from higher up. It was sliced off quickly, leaving only a dull sense of the outside world, a black-swathed figure coming up behind the man in the chair and pausing, letting his gaze pass slowly over the many monitors.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Still breathing," came the curt response. "Have you located Axel yet?"

The black-coated male shook his hooded head, though the man in the chair couldn't see the motion, his eyes never leaving the replaying footage. "He's deleting all traces of himself as he goes. He's being meticulous about it."

The bandaged man snorted, unimpressed. "We were right, then. He doesn't want anyone to know he's here. He's operating independently."

"It seems most likely," the other agreed.

There was a heavy sigh. "It would appear that things are getting too difficult to maintain. I suppose I should have known better than to hope for much more than we've achieved…" Silence fell for several minutes, both men watching the screens, all reflecting the same images.

"DiZ… what should we do?" the standing figure asked softly. "We were barely controlling anything to begin with, but now… it's all slipping away."

Leaning forward, stretching his spine for the first time in hours, DiZ placed his elbows onto his knees, gloved hands coming together, pressing against his mouth as he scowled thoughtfully at the main monitor, the boy that traversed it, oblivious to the cameras that had, once upon a time, closely watched him.

"See to it that the boy doesn't leave town again," he decreed at last, quietly. A long moment passed, his words seeming to echo in the Spartan room, before the black-coated figure nodded.

"…Alright."

He turned, steps virtually silent this time as he exited the room again, leaving the man to continue his vigil, staring at the footage, bathed in the soft, blue light.

Sora liked night-time. He liked darkness. He liked to stand in place and lose himself in the stars, imagining each of those burning and reflective worlds to be separate, disconnected universes, ones he could someday maybe lose himself inside.

He liked the way the air was cool, the way the birds sounded so sleepy when they chirped to one another in the trees that he passed. He liked the way the world slept outside of Traverse Town, even as much as he adored the buzz of that crowded city. There was no aspect of night that Sora _didn't_ enjoy.

Walking the quiet streets, he took it all in with pleasure, gazing around slowly, his sneakers scraping the pavement every few steps. He saw lights on in houses and apartments, blanketed by curtains, leaving warm squares of light, soft and comforting, that seemed to reach right through his chest and soothe his heart. Of course, he wasn't sure _why _it was soothing – he noted the tension in his body with confusion, tried to not delve too deeply into its cause, hoping uncertainly that it would all go away soon.

One sure-fire cure would be to get to Traverse Town in the next three hours and make sure he got the most out of his evening, before it was time to return and let life to take the reins once again, shunting his happy night-owl existence into the background.

He headed for the truck-stop on the edge of town, a regular source of hitch-hiking, Sora by now familiar with many of the drivers that stopped off at the diner before beginning their journeys. He knew by sight the ones that would give him a ride for free, quiet and peaceful, the ones that would talk his ear off in payment – doable, but not necessarily enjoyable – and the ones who would pull over, unzip, and demand a higher price than he was willing to give. He'd been stranded more than once on the side of that expanse of highway stretching between Traverse and Twilight, faced with the long walk to whichever side was closest.

He broke into a jog, quickly checking his watch, nodding with satisfaction at the hour. He'd be okay tonight – he had plenty of time for losing himself. Spirits high, he crossed the deserted tram common, all the clattering vehicles locked up for the night, and headed north, steps slapping rhythmically in the emptiness. He heated up as he went, the burn of daylight gone but not relenting entirely, keeping its presence felt even when venturing across the other side of the planet.

Passing through the silence of the pedestrian walkways, around the back of Twilight Town where, by this time, not many tended to wander, he was able to go more swiftly. He sucked in cool breaths, exhaled them swiftly, following the way he'd taken so many times before – so many, many times – and almost didn't see when someone stepped out of the shadows up ahead.

The figure emerged directly into Sora's path, the boy at first not noticing, so deeply did the black coat blend into the darkness. When he caught the flash of motion, he slowed to a walk, startled, and then, as the presence's appearance registered fully in his mind, Sora stopped cold.

He stared, for the longest of moments. Frozen in place, shoes rooted to the pavement, his blue eyes went wide, spiked hair swaying in the sea-breeze. Several feet away, the black-swathed figure remained similarly still, regarding him from within the obscured depths of his hood. Sora couldn't see his face, not a single section of his features, but still, the sight of the stranger was enough to strike ice-cold terror into his heart. It came as a stab, like someone had crawled inside his chest with a pick and slammed the tool directly into the struggling, fist-sized slab of muscle.

The breath he'd been unknowingly holding burst free of his mouth with a string of saliva, an almost-sob, followed by a hard-won gasp. Suddenly, it was like he couldn't inhale properly, couldn't catch his breath, panic and fear coursing his veins in a dizzying medley.

The figure straightened slowly, the creak of leather sounding clearly as he tightened his loose hands into fists. Sora stiffened, unconsciously mimicking the movements, the lean muscle of his arms shifting as he tensed. His breathing regulated sharply, but was still too shallow, too short to properly oxygenate his adrenaline-filling body.

As the black figure stepped forward, a single pace that exuded deliberate threat, even though no words had yet been spoken, Sora automatically stumbled a back little in response.

"_Nn."_

The small noise that escaped his throat was pitifully clear in the silence. There was a low snort from under the cowl of the black-coated aggressor, and these two sounds combined to stop Sora in his tracks. Chest hitching, he swayed visibly, then solidified, feet shifting apart, shoulders hunching slightly as, still scared, he leaned forward, making a blatant stand of defiance. His mouth opened, shivered slightly. "…Leave me alone."

A short laugh from under the hood, the figure looking away for a brief moment, reaching up to push his nose with one leather thumb. Something about the sound of the voice sent the slightest shudder of apprehension down Sora's spine. He stiffened, eyebrows drawing together, uneasiness rising. He took a step back, hesitated.

_I don't want to be trapped here._

He wanted to leave Twilight Town. He'd already been here too long, discomfort sharp at having to hang around. He just wanted to find a ride and get the hell out for a while – go have fun in Traverse. God only knew this place didn't have an ounce of fun to be had for someone like Sora.

He couldn't just turn around, couldn't go home. Every part of his soul burned to lose itself in frivolity, keeping the thoughts and memories at bay for one more night.

_He couldn't just give up._

He hardened his stance, took a deep breath, the first decent one in minutes, and narrowed his eyes. His fists became determined, no longer just a mimicry, no longer simply defensive and afraid. He sent the black-coated figure a dangerous look. "Get out of my way."

Another laugh, more chillingly recognisable than the last, and the man matched his attitude, his posture, knees bending in preparation for a fight. The world, and time, seemed to freeze.

Then Sora struck.

He launched himself forward, threw a punch that glanced off the cloth edge of the hood, the owner of the laugh dodging to the right, drawing back and snapping a sideways kick at his exposed back. Already turning, Sora managed to avoid the majority of the blow, catching a hard toe to the hip, bending low and throwing himself along the pavement, legs lashing out. The owner of the laugh jumped, aimed a second kick directly into his face, Sora just about scraping his nose along the ground to avoid it, feeling it sweep through his hair.

He rolled to his feet behind the man, missed the vicious backswing of elbow, slammed the heel of his palm into the black-clothed spine with enough force to send him staggering forward. That split-second of vulnerability allowed the boy to leap into a tuck and ram both feet straight into his enemy's lower back.

With a cry and a grunt, the attacker fell to his hands and knees, the first great noise of the battle, spurring Sora to press his advantage. He darted in as the man twisted around, throwing each fist and having them deflected by quick, desperate blocks, but the owner of the laugh was in an awkward position, he couldn't get up, Sora just kept raining smashing knuckles into him until they started going through.

He hit his face once, twice, the owner's body jolting with each swing, and with the third hit, the man used his backward momentum to grab Sora's ankles, drag himself rapidly beneath the boy, between his legs. He threw himself to his feet, shoved his back into Sora, bounced forward.

They spun to face each other, grim, neither one willing to give, and Sora suddenly halted, mind, body and spirit.

The aggressor's hood had fallen off during the chaos, revealing long, gleaming silver hair, eyes covered in a sheer, black blindfold to obscure his features at first glance – but Sora felt like his soul would recognise that face anywhere, at any time.

Riku.

The man's lips were tightly pressed, resolve firm even as blood ran down his chin, his pale skin bruising under the moonlight.

_Riku._

That name, that haunting name that knocked at his consciousness every time a male with any similarity whatsoever passed through the boy's bubble of existence, _that lost presence from his side. _

Riku was his attacker, and Riku knew who he was.

So then – why was Riku trying to hurt him?

Sora's mind rose up, revolted, became a beast and bit down savagely on all thought, blanking his every ounce of being, bringing pain searing through his chest. He cried out, a noise torn between dismay and agony, and without even knowing what he was doing, Sora twisted, tears blinding his eyes, and started to run.

He heard the overly-familiar voice behind him, yelling out, but there was no way in hell he was stopping, no way he would return. His legs took him faster than he'd known he could go, flying back the way he'd come, seeing nothing of the night's beauty now, the world blurring around him, melting, growing darker.

He gasped, feeling a wall in his mind coming, feeling it rush towards him with the force of a freight train, ready to obliterate his every ounce of self. He had to get home before it came, had to tumble into bed and draw the covers up, so that when the crushing blow impacted, he would be able to just… pass into unconsciousness, and not fear for who would find him… or in what state.

He made it. Just. And, eyes and chest ablaze with tears, fear and pain, Sora sank into oblivion.

"This isn't normal, Roxas."

The blond ignored the voice, kept his focus on his meal, the sharp tongs of his fork piercing through pale, roasted flesh. When he pushed it between his lips, all he tasted was the life that had once existed within it. It sickened him to the base of his soul, every morsel feeling more damned and damning than the last, yet still he continued to slice and consume.

The restaurant was lit in an intimate ambience, the gentle sound of a piano playing in the background. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying the flowing music accompanying their evenings, but to Roxas, the sound was eerie, the player's hands a pair of spiders he would love nothing more than to crush underfoot and be sure were dead.

He supposed idly that this was the sort of thing the owner of the voice was talking about.

He didn't care, though.

"Look at us, Roxas – where are we?" the owner hissed, leaning over his plate.

"Last time I checked, planet Earth," the blond replied dully, before eating another bite of long-dead life. After swallowing, he added quietly, "Call it purgatory, if you will."

The owner's eyes slid shut, a look of supreme patience being fought for on his slender features. He remained bent across the table, struggling hard for composure, no mean feat in a man famed for his fiery temperament. "We are – in the middle of an incredibly nice restaurant, actually," he corrected, voice tight, eyes still closed. "Having what is _supposed _to be a nice, romantic, us-time dinner… and you're looking like you're going to go postal at any minute. Do you _know _the way you're _looking _at the _pianist? _Do you even see yourself?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have extendable, rotating eyes," Roxas bit off, sawing at his cooked corpse, the steam rising from within in a thin wave, "so I can't answer that question affirmatively."

The owner of the voice sat back sharply, with a sigh, and glared down at his own plate. "I just… what does this say about us? Can't we everjust have a _normal _relationship?"

"That's rich, coming from you," the blond responded curtly. He jabbed his fork into the meat, placed it in his mouth to be detested and digested, while the owner swept up his bulbous wine glass and took a deep gulp of red, expression caught in a snarl he was obviously trying to repress.

"There's no such thing as normal in you and me," Roxas told him more calmly, eyes remaining fixed downward, seeing not a meal but a punishment to be endured. "If we try, it will break us."

Quietly passionate, the owner placed his glass down, reached across with one hand and stayed the blond's cutting, fingers tight around his knuckles. "But I _want _us to be normal! I want us to be able to celebrate anniversaries without being weird, I want a house and a dog in some anonymous neighbourhood, I want late nights and early mornings next to you, I wanna grow _old _with you, Rox!"

Blue eyes stared at death made edible, then shifted slowly to the hand gripping his. They noticed the peeling cuticles, the little flecks of white within the thin cartilage of his nails indicating a lack of calcium in the man's diet. They saw the mottled patch of flesh, ranging from the base of his thumb to halfway across his knuckles, differing shades of brown, red and white, from where new skin had been grafted over burnt-away skin several years previously.

Roxas saw a hand that had touched him more gently than anyone had touched him in his entire life, one which had slapped him in rage, one which had held a lighter and pressed its burning surface again and again into Roxas' bare lower back. He was more familiar with this one hand than he had been with any section of his own body.

This hand loved him.

To the hand, he said, "Then you want to break us. You want to twist us away from everything that we are, and pretend that we are something we're not. You want a fairytale." Then, to soften the sting he knew the hand would be feeling, he lowered himself and kissed its unevenly-coloured surface.

The hand tightened over his, the knife in his grasp slipping slightly over the pale plate's surface, and then it rose, hooked a knuckle under his chin and lifted his face easily. His eyes drifted up, no longer able to properly see the hand, and met with burning green across the table.

"Besides," Roxas continued idly, "do you really think we'll ever get the chance grow old? With or without each other?"

The owner's eyes darkened, and a moment later, Roxas was pulled into a hard kiss. The cutlery clattered, the wine in the glasses swinging from side to side in their clear, smooth-walled prisons, as the owner of the voice pushed his tongue into Roxas' mouth, sucked in his exhalations, acted as if, given the opportunity, choice and chance, he would take it all into himself, pour all of himself into the blond like a vessel, moulding their souls into the one container. He was torn between giving too much and taking too much – it would always be too much, either way.

Roxas could feel the instability of the pushing-pulling combination, the war between them, with himself sitting fragile at the centre of it all. He was accustomed to it by now. He used it to warm his blood.

When the kiss ended, Roxas was left with the lingering taste of his untouched wine. The owner pressed their foreheads together, continuing to greedily partake of the blond's rejected breaths.

Voice shaking, he muttered, "We need to get home."

Roxas tilted his chin forward, touching their mouths together, and agreed against the wet surface of his lips, "Yes."

_What you said just now – that wasn't normal. This is beyond the call of duty for me. I don't want to enable you anymore than I already have._

Roxas was haunted by these words. Hayner had given up on him.

The second day's grace dawned on two very quiet blonds.

Roxas and Hayner took turns in the shower, Roxas feeling the world around him like there was a curtain in place. It was sheer enough to see through, but opaque enough to keep the details fuzzy, cutting him off from the rest of the human race like an observer. He had a headache that threatened to overwhelm his entire skull, born from lack of sleep. He'd hoped that the new cleanliness would help to ease it a little, but, as he pulled on the clothes he'd brought from his apartment, eyes watering at the lingering spice of capsicum spray, he found nothing to be alleviated.

The mace, as faint as it was, wasn't helping in the slightest. Still, he didn't feel like trying to explain to Hayner why he'd need to borrow a shirt. It wasn't worth it, not right now. Speech… wasn't big on his agenda. He could see that this was both ticking off the other blond, and inspiring worry in him; he was scared that Roxas was diving back down.

Little did he know, Roxas was pretty sure he'd used up his grey quota for the month. He wondered distantly how it would be the next time an episode occurred – would it be doubly vicious to make up for all this?

At half-past five, with the sun creeping into the sky, the two males finished getting ready and headed for the door, silence heavy between them. They descended the stairs, Roxas bringing up the rear, pressing his palm tenderly against the covered gash on his face, making sure that the condensation from the shower hadn't got in and dissolved the adhesive. Patting it lightly, he lowered the hand to the banister, ran his fingers along the cool surface all the way down, the sounds of their footsteps sharp in the enclosed space, in the silence.

Emerging out onto the street, both boys turned automatically to the right, hands in pockets as they headed for the tram common for the earliest ride. In the distance, a truck's horn bellowed, the sound of the day's first trains chugging out of Central drifting along the momentarily cold, early sea-breeze. Wordlessly, they reached the common, clambered aboard the right tram, and sat with elbows on knees, waiting for it to commence its journey.

Roxas could see Hayner darting him looks out of the corner of his eye, but made no effort to engage the blond's gaze. He wasn't – he wasn't angry, as such… but he didn't know how to act around Hayner right now, just as much as Hayner wasn't sure how to act around him. They were both awash in uncertainty, a faint uneasiness hanging in the air between them like a chasm. Roxas knew he owed a lot to Hayner for his treatment of him since he first threw the trail-mix bowl at his head – an act which kind of horrified him with what-ifs, when he took the time to consider them – but he couldn't bring himself to thank him, or apologise, or… anything. He just – _he didn't know what to say. _He didn't know how to address this.

He didn't want to be told to get help. Not by Hayner. Not by the one solitary person who would actually put up with his shit time and again. Roxas didn't want to face the thought of doing it all alone from now on. It made him feel… like he couldn't quite catch his breath. It made his chest tighten with dread. He didn't want to be abandoned.

So he kept his silence, grim and tight-jawed, Hayner matching it minute for minute, the ride feeling awkwardly longer than usual. The loud rattling of the tram heralded them the entire way, the world warming gradually, the air rushing through growing hotter, the voices of the birds heard distantly through the clatter. Roxas watched the town pass by through the windows, bobbing with every shudder of the vehicle.

As Aerith's store eventually neared, they got to their feet in the carriage sparsely filled with heavy-eyed early-risers. Gripping the handholds, the blonds watched the road rumble past, waiting until the pavement swung their way before leaping nimbly with the ease of practice, neither one willing to wait for the allocated stop and double back on foot.

Their sneakers slammed to the sidewalk, Roxas' legs bowing beneath him, the spike-haired blond nearly tumbling straight to his knees, but Hayner's hand was there to stop him, wrapping firmly around his upper arm and tugging him without thought. As Roxas stumbled back onto his feet, they looked at each other for a tense moment, before Hayner released him.

They continued on, walking until they reached Aerith's, the store's sign against the window reading, 'closed' and displaying their business hours, but the door unlocked as they pushed through, setting off the delicate bell set above their heads.

Evidently listening out for them, Aerith called from the back room, her voice oddly loud in the stillness. The boys passed through the dark shop, brushed by fronds and reaching leaves, the scent of soil and greenery swirling to encompass them, the natural humidity the many, varied plants created swallowing them. It really did seem a lot more like a very small nursery than a florist's – Roxas sometimes wondered why Aerith didn't just claim they were a garden centre that delivered flowers and get it over with. But no – apparently, despite her love of all things growing, the woman favoured flowers, and made them her profession.

As they entered the back room, Roxas was made aware of this afresh as his eyes took in the sight of dozens of overflowing baskets, spewing forth every type of flower they stocked and then some – he was pretty sure he recognised sprays from Aerith's own garden, which he'd had the opportunity to marvel over all of twice in his employment, at her incredible converted-church home.

The woman herself was seated in the middle of the floor, utterly surrounded by arrangements, hair tightly braided back and swept over one shoulder, dark smudges of fatigue shadowing each eye. She looked up with a tired smile, letting loose a satisfied sigh. "Morning, boys," she said hoarsely, sounding for all the world like she'd been there the entire night. The more Roxas gaped about at the fabulously-done compositions, the more likely it seemed.

"Aerith…" Hayner exclaimed in awe, trying to take in the wild chaos and make sense of it. "Please tell me you went home last night."  
Her nose crinkled as her smile grew warm. "I went home last night," she assured him. As he sighed his relief, she added, with a wink, "For a jacket." Hands pausing from where they were even now arranging, she lifted her fingertips to the short red jacket covering her upper torso, straightening the sides, before returning to her work. The blonds gaped.

"Are you telling me you didn't sleep at _all?" _Hayner demanded. "Aerith!"

"Hayner!" she mimicked. "It's my job, my business, remember?" Rolling her eyes at his attitude, she waved a hand, saying airily, "It's not like it's the first time I've pulled an all-nighter.I promise there weren't any boys or alcohol." As Hayner huffed, Roxas gave a slight smile. Aerith's gaze found him, gaining compassion as she asked, "How are you, today?"

"I'm good, Aerith," the blond assured her quietly. "It's good to have something to occupy my mind."

She liked this answer – it seemed to put her fears at rest, posture relaxing from its rigid state now that they were both here to remind her she wasn't some kind of flower-weaving robot. Stifling a yawn, she stopped again to check her wristwatch, murmuring, "Oh, I lost track of the time." She rolled her neck from side to side, working out the stiffness from sitting for so long. "My friend should be back any minute with coffees for us all. She stayed with me to keep me company and make sure nothing happened in regards to that arsonist."

Both blonds grimaced at the reminder. "I really hope nothing like that happens to this place," Roxas muttered, eyes skating around the room. Aerith shivered a little.

"Oh, don't even suggest it." She placed her hands on her crossed knees, gesturing out at the overwhelmed room, asking, "So, then – how does it all look?"

"Nothing less than incredible," Hayner admitted, looking around. "Those guys at the mansion better be paying you good for all this work."

Aerith laughed, a tired sound, but pleased. "You can start loading up the van straight away, just take any, there's no order to them. It'll take a couple of trips, though." As the boys headed for the door to the yard, she called after them, "And don't worry about chilling the back, it's early enough to not wilt them, and it's all a one-way trip."

"You got it, boss," Hayner yelled back, voice bouncing off the fence walls, echoing up into the sky. They grabbed their gloves from the workbench, tugging them on, cold for now but warming quickly. Roxas took the keys and went to unlock the van, while Hayner started setting up baskets by the door, ready to be hauled out into the lane and the waiting white vehicle.

Together, silence persisting, they loaded up the back of the van, efficiently and without complaint. The only point of displeasure for Roxas was when he realised he was carting, among other things, orchids – he could feel the pollen irritating already. Making sure his gloves were pulled as high as they went, he kept his face back and moved quickly, feeling sneezes build inside his sinuses like bombs waiting to go off.

Noticing his discomfort, Hayner paused, frowned as they headed back in the heating air for more. Roxas stifled the first sneeze, eyes reddening, and the taller blond muttered, "Leave those ones for me. Focus on the others." Roxas blinked away the moisture in his eyes, sniffed, nodded. The baskets developed a segregation as they continued, and Roxas' allergy, for the most part, came under control.

As the van reached the half-filled point, an unfamiliar voice bellowed for them to come in. Throwing each other momentarily bewildered glances – before remembering that they weren't talking – the boys slowed, stopped, returned to the store and cautiously entered.

Crouched in the new blank space on the floor, beside a still-working Aerith, was a woman with long black hair, holding two large, cardboard coffee cups. Her dark eyes rose from watching Aerith's hands, a bright smile in place as she greeted, "How's it going, guys? My name's Tifa – I got you some caffeine to tide you over until the job's done."

"Oh – hey, nice to meet you." Hayner tugged off a glove, grabbed his coffee gratefully in one hand and shook her hand with the other. Roxas offered a superficial, thin smile, doing the same, murmuring his thanks and lining up the small hole with his mouth.

"Oh, hey, be careful!" Tifa warned, alarmed. "It's really –"

"_Ah!" _Roxas hissed, snatching his head back from the sudden stinging burn on his tongue and lips.

"…Hot," the woman finished helplessly. "I'm sorry, I should have said so straight away."

Gingerly touching his mouth with one finger, Roxas shook his head. "It's fine, don't worry about it." His mouth tingled, slowly turning numb. He placed the cup down in the cramped, sectioned-off employee area, popping the lid off and replacing it loosely to allow more steam to escape. Rubbing his mouth absently, he tugged on his other glove, glanced at the women and said, "I'll – wait for it to cool." He got back to work, Hayner joining him a moment later.

It took twenty minutes to fully pack the van, leaving a third of the baskets still sitting on the back room's floor. Aerith and Tifa were co-operating on the last several, talking earnestly about world topics over the flowers they placed and shifted, providing background noise to distract the males from their continuing stalemate… up until it was time to deliver the first load, that is.

"Due to time constraints, both of you will go," Aerith commanded from her cross-legged position, "then you, Roxas, stay behind with the load while Hayner returns and packs up the last of them. Roxas, just put them wherever the owners tell you to, there should be someone on hand to give you your instructions. Hayner will be joining you soon after, and once you've completed everything, just come on back, boys. The shop will be open for business hours by then, and we can get going on the regular tasks."

Hayner sucked a weary breath, nodded. "Sure, Aerith, no problem." Grabbing the van's keys from the woman's outstretched hand, he jangled them in his fist, tossed Roxas a glance, asking flatly, "Are you ready?"

"Uh-huh," the blond muttered in return, not meeting his gaze. Both smiled at the women, who waved a brief good-bye before returning to their previous conversation, Tifa settling across from Aerith and beginning some form of argument. Their voices faded as the two blonds tramped out through the yard, over the scraped paving and through the gate, Roxas swinging it shut behind them, Hayner heading straight for the driver's seat.

Making sure the rear and sliding doors were secure, Roxas joined him, hauling himself up into the passenger's side. The van started up, and, the boys rolling down their windows automatically, Hayner pulled out of the lane and retraced the roads to the massive home among the hills.

The vehicle reeked of every type of flower, Roxas having to place his face halfway out the window to keep from being overwhelmed by the orchids, which Aerith had already apologised for and explained were unavoidable additions.

Once again, silence reigned between them. Aside from the few words they'd had to utter, they remained close-lipped on the one topic that occupied both their minds, disappointments, fears and expectations forming blockages within throats that prevented words from getting past. A lot of sighing went on, though. A lot of… _almost-_words. The tips of their tongues were crowded with a thousand warring speeches which neither knew how to deliver.

Roxas occupied his with the coffee he'd brought along, luke-warm now, sipping at it periodically as Twilight Town went rushing past on either side, the streets and architecture familiar, comfortable, warm. He felt, despite everything, a quiet rush of affection for the place, which he hadn't had time to indulge in since his episode commenced the previous week. He liked living here, and even though he complained about the heat, he enjoyed the sleepy atmosphere it lent.

As they pulled up to the mansion, Roxas drained his cup, bent the edges inward, and placed it on the dashboard, squinting through the sun-splashed windscreen at the looming home, the van cresting the rise of the driveway and drawing to a halt. The engine cut out, both boys pulling deep breaths, not looking at one another as they exited the vehicle. Hayner headed straight for the doorstep as Roxas went around and opened all the doors wide, allowing both of them to haul the baskets out as swiftly as possible.

By the time Hayner returned, a disturbed expression in place, Roxas had unloaded ten of them onto the paving, beginning to build up a sweat. The taller blond hesitated, watched him for a moment, then asked, "…Roxas?"

"What?" the boy returned shortly, not looking up as he swung two more out and carried them to the others, gloves negating the cut of the weaving into his skin. He sniffed, rubbed his wrist over his forehead, returned to the van.

"You know how you came back the other day all sort of… in a bad mood?" Hayner ventured. Roxas scowled darkly.

"Don't worry, it won't repeat itself. You won't have to put yourself out by _enabling_ anything." It was an unfair, bitchy statement; he felt it, felt useless for having uttered it, but somehow managed to retain just enough stupid pride to only hesitate before continuing as if nothing had been said.

Hayner did the same, a slight pause developing, before saying flatly, "Never mind, then."

Part of Roxas wanted to flare, demand if that was _actually _what Hayner had been desiring to ask about, but he subsided after a teeth-gritting moment, threw himself into his work, muscles working hard, sweat building and trickling. Hayner operated from the rear doors, the two blonds maintaining a wall between them that was now officially stronger than it had been before they'd made the mistake of speech. This had been precisely why neither of them had tried conversing – there was too much tension, too much potential for bitterness from each, threatening to turn even the most idle chatter into an opportunity to inappropriately vent frustration.

The van was unpacked a damn sight faster than it had been loaded up, and it wasn't long before Hayner was pulling himself back into the front seat, restarting the vehicle and pulling away without another word. Roxas glared after him as he took the corner too wide, too fast, the van's wheels protesting with a slight screech, the engine noisy as the blond accelerated away. Then he was alone with the baskets, the hot breeze, and the large house.

He turned to it with a frown, inspecting its face, eyes automatically seeking out the cameras from last time. The fact that they were still there was somehow enough to relax him – they were a permanent fixture of the house, used by hyper-alert owners for security purposes. Maybe it was the tail-end of the grey talking, but he didn't find it bothersome today like he had last time. Freaking out at the thought of being captured on tape seemed an exaggerated over-reaction to today's Roxas, and, without qualm, he gathered the first of the baskets and headed for the front door.

Realising that Hayner had neglected to tell him anything the owner might have said, he quietly cursed the tall blond, lips pursing unhappily. The door was open, though, propped wide and held in place with a small wedge of smooth rubber. Sighing, resigning himself to seeking someone out and asking for a brief rundown, he turned sideways, a broad basket clutched against his waist in each arm, the heads and long, graceful leaves of the flowers bumping against the wood as he entered.

The inside of the manor was dim and hushed, nothing like he'd been expecting – in truth, with some important something-or-other brunch requiring all these massive arrangements decorating the place, he'd thought that the caterers would already be in place, fighting for driveway space with all the aggression of the hospitality business. It was unusual that they were all alone here – that _he _was all alone here.

Eyes skating the large foyer he'd entered into, he raised his voice, called, "Hello? I'm an employee of Aerith, I just need some guidance here, please!"

His voice all but echoed in the high-ceilinged space.

He waited for a minute, waited for someone to appear from somewhere and provide a little direction, but no one _did. _He might as well have kept his mouth shut. With a heavy exhalation, he lowered one of the arrangements to the floor, holding the first more securely, glancing over his shoulder and out into the bright sunlight, to where all the others were sitting fully exposed to the sun. They would begin wilting soon, if he didn't transport them in, and there was nowhere out there shady enough to transfer them to until Hayner returned in forty minutes' time with the next load and the given instructions.

Clamping down on his irritation, Roxas looked around the interior of the house, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, _"Hello! _Need a little _help _here, if you please!"

When still no response came, he made the decision to go in search – there was simply nothing else for it. He hadn't so much as a cell-phone on his person with which to contact Aerith, such things belonging to those with foresight and a hell of a lot more sleep than Roxas had been indulging in lately. His thoughts were muffled, his steps heavy as he headed cautiously towards the nearest door, cracking it open and calling, "Hey, is anyone around? I'm from Aerith's Ancients, trying to help set up for the party or… whatever it is."

His voice came bouncing back at him, sounding frustrated. With a sigh, he set off down the hallway, hoping to God that he wouldn't get in trouble for venturing where he wasn't allowed. People got weird about those sorts of boundaries with delivery boys. Still, it's not like they'd left him with any other choice in the matter. Was it really so hard to have _one person _within earshot of the people decorating your goddamn mansion? Was it seriously that much to ask?

Huffing a breath impatiently, he hitched the basket further up his chest, shaking his face free of the several gardenias jutting out, venturing deeper into the house, determined to find _someone. _Looking around, though, he wondered why these people were even bothering with all the flowers – all of Aerith's wares combined couldn't mask the fact that, on the inside at least, it was a dusty, dilapidated sort of place. Everywhere he looked, on every raised surface, a layer of grime was evident, the sort you could trail a finger through, leaving a shining snake in its wake. Furniture was broken and looking like it wasn't going to be fixed anytime in the next millennium – honestly, who went to the trouble of paying so much money to prettify the place only to have the aged mustiness overwhelm it again?

Perhaps they were new to the area, he supposed. Maybe the place was a fixer-upper. Didn't change the fact that _there was no one the fuck around._

"God!" he exclaimed, reaching the end of the hallway and looking left, right, back the way he'd come. Angrily, he wondered if he should just head back. He wasn't comfortable being this far in uninvited, he was going to get into trouble, and quite frankly, these were the assholes who had made him shift every goddamn pot a foot to the left. Who knew _where _they were, or _what _they were doing, or even what they found _amusing – _flower boys wandering their hallways unattended? Sure! Why the fuck not! Entertainment plus!

Shaking his head, growling under his breath, Roxas performed an about-face, stalked back down the dim passageway towards the point of light in the distance that was the exit into the foyer. He would just bring everything inside and wait for Hayner to get back. Maybe it'd give him time to wake up a little – he was beginning to feel sick, he was so fuzzy-headed and clumsy.

He still wasn't going to sleep if he could help it, though.

Suddenly, he tripped, over seemingly nothing. He fell hard, landing on the arrangement, sending the flowers erupting out onto the thin carpet, winding himself slightly on the surprisingly hard, woven basket. His small cry died quickly on the flat air, features forming a deep scowl as his mind caught up with his sprawled body. Grunting, his palms found purchase against the floor, pushing him shakily up to his knees.

A second later, a strong hand wrapped tightly around his upper arm, and he was yanked to his feet, biting his tongue in the process. He looked over quickly, eyes widening sharply at the sight of a tall person dressed entirely in black, a thick hood drawn over to heavily obscure the wearer's features. He couldn't stifle the gasp that popped from his lips, shock and fear spiking in his chest.

The figure – it looked like Death.

Roxas had never been afraid to die – never really thought about it in earnest – but there was something about being faced with someone from a Grim Reaper's cult that brought it all home with a jolt.

He could only stare as the figure brought its head close, face remaining unseen, though it was obviously peering hard into Roxas'. A moment passed, Roxas' heart jumping hard.

Then, the figure spoke.

"Can you feel Sora?"

It was asked intently, voice low, male, a searching quality to it. Almost… a desperate edge. Roxas hitched in a breath, confusion rising. He shook his head helplessly, eyes scouring the dark cowl. "Huh?"

The hand tightened cruelly for a moment, then released him abruptly, nearly throwing him away. Roxas choked out a protest, the man striding down the passageway, away from the light. Roxas hadn't even heard him approaching. How did he move so damn quietly?

He could remember Hayner demanding the self-same thing of him, once upon a time, early on in their friendship. Pence had likened him to a ninja at Olette's grandparents' beach house, and he wondered if this was what it was like to have someone completely and utterly sneak up on you like that.

The difference being, though, that Roxas was Roxas. Once they saw him, the scare was over.

"…Can you feel Sora…?" he murmured aloud, testing the words out, gazing after him as he vanished around the distant corner.

Slowly, feeling his upper arm throb from where those fingers had gripped him, Roxas gathered up the scattered flowers into the basket, and carried them back into the light.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **Annnd welcome back to our regularly scheduled program? Hope you all have been having an _excellent _holiday, I most certainly have (ie, I'mma get right on all the unanswered and old reviews the second I shake off the lazy funk it's inspired in me, eheh...) . It's been a long time since this was updated – like, _long _long, as in four months or so, so go back and skim a little if it helps (I myself had to re-read half of it and spend a while making notes on what I _used _to _know intrinsically). _Hopefully everyone's happy with this chapter, I can't begin to rave enough about how cool it is to just be projecting chapters for the one solitary story. And it's going to be so much FASTER! Happy New Year, all - resolution, kept ;P

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

An hour later, Roxas heard the rumble outside that signified the van's return. Together, relief and anxiety slammed into being, creating a churning inside that did nothing to help his exhausted dizziness.

Hayner was back.

Straightening from where he'd been twisting one floral arrangement in its place, trying to show its best side for Aerith's sake, he rubbed a wrist over his sweaty brow and headed for the entrance. He hadn't yet managed to bring in all of the baskets; the eerie encounter in the hallway, coupled with his complete and utter lack of sleep, had slowed him down. He was _trying, _he really was – but no amount of good intentions could lend his heavy body speed or alacrity. He felt – sick. His headache had yet to fade. His face was throbbing all around the gash in his cheek, stinging, itching. The heat was getting to him. He just – he needed to lie down for a while.

He stepped out into the blinding sun, feeling its burn sear and envelop him, the perspiration prickling against his skin. Shielding his eyes, he paused for a moment to adjust, swaying slightly under the assault. The world went white-hot, swarming with minute dots, time hesitating as Roxas wondered faintly if he was going to pass out right here on the stone steps. This time, Hayner would be too far away to catch him, just like he'd feared, and no doubt there'd be blood galore. Knees weakening and wobbling, the temptation was there to let go, barely even a choice to be made, not _Roxas' _choice at least – his body was ready to take control and make up for the last couple days of neglect.

_But that would mean sleeping, wouldn't it?_

Oh, that just wouldn't do.

Willpower asserted itself more firmly, like a cold gust of wind to the face, forcing his eyes to blink rapidly. With an extra hard heartbeat, time resumed, Roxas gasping a deeper breath, legs moving before his vision had even cleared yet. No, no, no. No sleep. _No. _It wasn't an option. Instead, he staggered towards the van, its paint harshly reflecting the sun's rays, no shade out here, not unless he wanted to crawl underneath it and lie on the blistering paving.

Hayner was already working, hadn't spared Roxas a single glance throughout his tight-rope act between consciousness and unconsciousness, obviously still pissed at him, totally ignorant of the fact that his supposed best friend had been virtually assaulted within the freaky mansion while he'd been away. One small mercy had been that, though he'd kept one eye forever watchful for his reappearance, the man in the black coat hadn't returned.

As Hayner slid the side of the van open with a bang, Roxas drew level with him, reaching out to grip the lip of the roof to steady himself. He practically sagged against it, trying hard not to be obvious, then hissed sharply as the burning of the metal registered a moment later against his fingers. He yanked his hand back, Hayner finally sending him a look, a pitying one, before going still. There was a pause, as Roxas panted against the side of the vehicle, cradling his hand with ferociously knitted brows, before the taller blond sighed. "You fucking asshole."

Surprised, Roxas squinted through the blinding light, turned his head, only to see Hayner's shoulders shifting as he leaned into the van, rummaging noisily in amongst the many woven baskets, fronds, broad leaves and blooms. After a short hunt, with a sloshing sound, a half-filled plastic bottle of water was punched into his sternum with enough force to knock some of the breath from his chest. "Drink some, knucklehead," Hayner advised irritably, adding in a mutter, _"Jesus." _

Roxas looked down at the bottle suddenly in his grasp, hesitated, then unscrewed it and did as commanded, swallowing half of it down, then cupping scraping several handfuls across his sweltering scalp. It didn't make the ill fatigue – that weak, shaky, numb sensation – go away, but it cooled him just enough to pull him back from the hazy brink. If he was going to pass out, it at least wouldn't be from heatstroke.

Capping the now empty bottle slowly, he studied Hayner's grim profile, the thin blond back to work, hauling out several baskets and depositing them on the driveway. Drawing a short breath, Roxas softly said, "…Thanks."

"Uh-huh," Hayner grunted, bending to loop a group of them over his forearms, dragging them out of the van's stifled interior. "They're wilting, get going."

Roxas repressed the grimace that wanted to break out, a little disappointed, mostly unsurprised. Evidently, no thin gesture of goodwill meant that things were back to normal. Hayner wasn't going to bend that easily, and they weren't about to start acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

Fine, then. Roxas had made an effort, at least. If that wasn't going to be reciprocated, then the standoff would continue at Hayner's insistence.

He walled his expression over to mimic that of the other blond, and copied Hayner's method, looping his arms through the basket handles and carrying several arrangements over towards the house, stepping past the ones that had yet to be taken in. By this hour, all the plant life was beginning to look worse for wear, but it was hardly _his_ fault – the owner of the goddamn house shouldn't have been so decidedly fucking absent. Maybe if Roxas hadn't had to spend so long dithering uncertainly through empty passageways, they'd be looking fresher.

As he headed inside to set them up in the main foyer – the only part of the house he felt comfortable, or safe, entering by himself – Hayner took over the job of bringing them to the door for him. They encountered one another at the crossover point on countless occasions, but ignored the other's existence each and every time. They just worked, and worked, until the van was empty, at which point Hayner joined him in quietly setting them up inside.

He paused at the entrance, arms laden with baskets, and eyed the crowded way the arrangements had been placed – on tables, on the floor, at the base and top of the two staircases, at the glass doors into the yard. "…This is what they wanted?" he asked, dubiousness breaking the silence.

Roxas scarcely glanced at him, curtly answering, "Fuck knows what they wanted. No one was around to tell me where to put them, so I just set them up how I could. These people are freaks, Hayner, they're weird, and the sooner we're out of here, the better."

Hayner considered this, watching him work, couldn't resist shrewdly starting up, "So. Something _did _happen to you the other–"

"Nothing _happened," _Roxas bit off. He pushed up to his feet from where he'd been steadying the cracked edge of one of the baskets, wiping his hands on his shorts and darting several uneasy looks around. "Look, this house is some kind of _cult den _or something, so can we please just finish the hell up?"

After a second's blankness, understanding dawned on the taller blond's face. "Ohh. You met the guy in the black hood, right?"

Roxas stopped, pinned Hayner with a sharp look that made him falter. "You knew that that guy was running around like that, and you didn't warn me?" Hayner's mouth opened, no sound coming out as he hesitated, not sure how to argue that. "Thanks, Hay," Roxas snapped coldly, blue eyes narrowing. "I appreciate the heads-up."

Helplessly, the other blond stammered, "He didn't… I mean, it was just a _robe, _man…"

"And the guy under it is some kind of fuck-nut," Roxas muttered, stalking past to get more bouquets from the entranceway. "So thanks a lot for that. Thanks for abandoning me. Good to know I can count on you."

Undertones screamed. Hayner's teeth clicked together, cheeks furiously flushed, something akin to shame flickering in his eyes, but anger smothering it out. The unfairness of the statement echoed in the air, and this time, it was because of Roxas that the standoff perpetuated – only now, the bitterness was much closer to the surface.

With no reappearance of anyone inside the mansion, Hayner and Roxas left within the hour, having done the best they could without supervision or instruction of any kind. If the owners were unhappy with what they'd done, they could go jump off the nearest, tallest bridge, as far as Roxas was concerned. And if Aerith tried to make him go and move all the baskets a foot to the left, he'd consider quitting, he seriously would. He'd had enough of that house. Aerith needed a black-list, so he could write the address of that place over and over on it, and never have to go back.

The trip back to the store could only be described as bundles of fun, with a wall of ice a foot thick and sky high separating the males. Hayner took the corners wider than ever, Roxas gazing flatly out the window, refusing to react, not a word passing between them. Aerith's bright, air-conditioned greeting fell on sullen ears, the pair of them grunting in return as they headed for the lunchbox-sized employee lounge, their bodies in the same space but their minds a million miles apart and getting further with every minute.

Roxas heard the woman excuse herself from a customer, coming back to investigate, Roxas on the couch, Hayner standing with his back to him, the pair of them sipping water from the dispenser and pointedly cold-shouldering one another. She frowned. "How did it go? Was everything okay?"

"The baskets were all delivered and set up," Roxas replied neutrally, tiredness heavy in his tone. "No one told us we did it wrong, at any rate."

She glanced to Hayner, waiting to see if he had anything to add to this – no doubt he had been a lot less disgruntled the last time she'd seen him, making the abrupt transformation puzzling – but he did nothing but continue drinking, staring straight ahead and tuning out the conversation altogether. No one did dour withdrawal quite like Hayner – he could stonewall the entire planet if the situation called for it.

Familiar enough with his moods to know that pushing would get her nowhere, Aerith sighed, hands on hips, and eyed them both critically. "Neither of you have recovered yet, have you?" She shook her head. "Roxas, you look like you're about to fall over, and Hayner –" She gave a worrying smile. "You just look exhausted, dear."

Roxas lifted his gaze up to the back of the blond's sandy head, unable to see whatever expression he was wearing to make her utter such a comment. Hayner just tipped his chin down a little, some vague acknowledgement that she had spoken. She grimaced. "I'm sorry," she apologised, after a beat of silence. "I wish you hadn't had to come in so early. It's been a long couple of days for both of you." They both looked over at her, stung out of their distances by the regret in her voice. She smiled to finally have their attention. "…Take the afternoon off. I'll survive."

"But…" Hayner weakly attempted to argue. "But we took _yesterday _off, and you need us…"

"I _needed _you," the woman corrected, raising a finger. "And you both really came through for me, even with all the recent trauma and sleeplessness." Roxas barely managed to restrain a snort at that last one. Oh, if only she knew. She folded her arms across her stomach, regarding them with fond worry. "But I know you were planning to go to the police after work, so – why wait? Go now, boys. I won't need you again today, and I really want everything sorted out with Roxas."

Hayner turned to send the blond a long look, blue eyes meeting hazel in a moment of hard wondering. Roxas tensed – what was Hayner feeling spiteful enough to say, right now? 'In that case, forget it, Roxas is a fucking liar'? Or, better yet, 'Oh, it's not the police we need. A straitjacket will fix him just _fine'. _

Hayner pursed his lips, glanced away. "…We'll do that. Thanks, Aerith. You're a good boss."

She huffed a slight, dry laugh. "No, no, just a good businesswoman. Can't have the two of you slouching around my store all day glaring, you'd scare off the customers." She stepped into their personal space, the pair of them stiffening a little as she couldn't help but touch a motherly hand to each of their faces in turn. Her gentle, green eyes searched first brown, then blue irises. "Take care," she said at last, a thumb lingering at the corner of the large band-aid on Roxas' cheek. "Please, boys. I hate to think of you being unhappy."

It only took a couple of minutes to pack their gloves away and grab their wallets from the locked drawer in the employee lounge, shoving them into deep pockets and making sure Aerith hadn't changed her mind before they left. They exited across the back yard, through the gate and into the alley, Hayner double-checking that the van was safely locked up before they continued on towards home.

The trip was predictably quiet. No conversation, no running commentary, no dry remarks – nothing from either camp. Cautious, wary, resentful silence dogged their every step and breath, giving neither blond a moment's peace. Their flip-flops slapped the ground, the sun burned; life went on around them like the proverbial pebbles in the greater river that they were, paying their consuming dramas which meant so much to them, so little to the passersby, no heed.

Then Hayner paused at a set of traffic lights, turned to Roxas, and, ignoring the other pedestrians forced to move around them, said, "Choose, Roxas."

The spike-haired blond jerked his head up from its sunken position, shoulders straightening uncertainly as he took in his friend's hard expression. Hayner had crossed his arms, was frowning heavily, gaze unwavering. He was the very picture of grim resolve, and Roxas had – absolutely no idea what he wanted. "I… what?"

Hayner tipped his head to the right. "That way is home. We go there, and that's the end of it. If you're so determined to be a fuck-up about all this, then I won't support you through it anymore. You can fix your _own _damn cuts the next time some psycho comes knocking at your door, and I won't be so forgiving when you go berserk and try to kill me. I'll be out of it completely. And I mean that," he warned darkly. "I'm not going to soften up and help you if it happens again, because it'll be all your own fault. Short of the guy dragging you into some alleyway and raping you, I will have _nothing _to do with it, so _don't _come to me." Roxas stared with wide eyes, the implications not having time to sink in before Hayner went on, nodding to the left, "That way… is the cops."

Roxas went cold, spine rigid at the mention of the police, blue eyes narrowing stonily. Hayner paused, eyed him wearily, taking note of the reaction with resignation.

"…If we go that way, then I'll be behind you every step of the way. If that red-haired prick shows his face again, I'll do my best to beat it into a whole new shape, and I won't let him go until he's bleeding from as many orifices as possible. I'll listen to you, Rox. I'll be your wingman. Anything you need, I'll provide. I'll help you get drunk to get over the trauma, and I'll even hold your hair when you start puking everywhere afterwards." He lifted his shoulders lightly, a deliberately casual expression in place. "I'm your best friend. I'll fill the shoes like a best friend should." He regarded Roxas steadily. "It's up to you, though, man. It's your choice." The shorter blond hesitated, making him sigh, voice taking on an impatient quality. "I'm sick of fighting with you. Between your recent grey phases and my own stupid shit-storms, I'm getting kind of tired of the mood swings, you know? I want us to make a resolution, one way or another." When the blond still didn't speak, he groaned, lightly kneading his brow, and requested, "Tell me this, at least – what's so insecure about going to the cops? That's your issue with them, right? It's not secure enough, you said. So… why is that?"

A spike of panic tingled at Roxas' nerves, leaving discomfort in its wake. That was… a very bad question for Hayner to be asking him. _Very _bad.

Because Roxas didn't have an answer.

"…I don't…" Roxas stopped, bit his tongue between two canines. _I don't know. _Hayner wouldn't accept that, he knew. He wouldn't accept the weakness of it. All it would do was compound the theory that Roxas was losing his mind. He thought for a moment, searching his ridiculous mind, then hesitated, quietly said, "They're just… not. It's… my decision." Frustration flashed through Hayner's features, but he kept his silence, no doubt biting his own tongue hard enough to bring blood. "I choose home."

The taller blond narrowed his eyes, a tense pause developing between them. There was a breeze, the first whispers of ocean air sweeping through their sleepy little burg. The traffic revved and honked, the clacking of the tram audible beneath it all.

Eventually, Hayner inclined his head shortly. "…It never happened, then," he decreed. Roxas glanced away from the disappointment in his gaze. Another moment of stillness passed, before Hayner adjusted the hem of his shirt awkwardly, needing something to do with helpless hands. Head lowering a little, he turned to the right. "Let's go home." He rubbed a forearm over his perspiring forehead, briefly closing his eyes, Roxas cautiously trailing as he began walking again, muttering, "I have to call the bank and find out what my stupid number is."

The blue-eyed male watched his back warily as their flip-flops resumed scraping and scuffing the pavement with tired steps. He couldn't quite believe that Hayner's tone had held any finality with the statement that it had never happened. That wasn't Hayner; Hayner _pushed. _He didn't bargain until he knew he was beat. So what did that mean, then? He'd – given up? Conceded defeat in the face of Roxas' complete and utter inflexibility? …Had the last couple of days really been that intense for him?

A stupid question, he supposed, eyeing the sweaty blond's back unsurely, guilt sharpening its many little knives on the threads of his insides, not quite ready to start stabbing, but acknowledging that some future butchering was probably in store. Hayner pushed, but Roxas had pushed even harder. And now… his best friend was down, he'd won, and it felt hollow, like all the best victories always did.

At least, by Hayner's own admission, that was the end of it. It was over now. Roxas could finally begin the process of forgetting, even as his fingers rose to flatten the curling edges of the band-aid down against his cheek.

He jogged forward a couple steps, catching up, drawing alongside his friend. Hayner threw a little glance sideways, a small crease between his brows, relaxing imperceptibly when Roxas shot him an equally brief look and focused ahead. This was the truce. This was all arms being laid down, an end to what little gunfire had passed between them. It was unspoken, but felt keenly by each of them, each with his own measure of relief.

Roxas just didn't realise exactly how much of it was on Hayner's side, or what that sudden lift of tension could mean.

The showerhead hissed. Roxas tasted salt in the cool water that streamed through his hair, down his face and into his mouth, tasted his own sweat being washed away and let it gush down his chin as he rejected it. The sounds of his short gasps of air filled the bathroom, feet shifting silently against the cold tiles in amongst the constant swirl of his sluiced filth. The band-aid had given up the battle and been temporarily plastered to the wall, sticking with a mixture of leftover adhesive, water, and a little bit of blood. As long as he didn't leave it there, Hayner couldn't be grossed out.

The pressure of the endless stream passing through the increasingly puckered gash stung a little, but didn't affect him beyond a sensation to be noted, business as usual. It might as well have been someone poking his side – his mind went, "Oh, there's something happening", and left it at that.

He'd been in here for fifteen minutes so far, knowing he had to climb out soon, but it was his first shower since the grey plunge after the attack – it was nice to enjoy the various sensations that accompanied a satisfyingly chilly shower on a hot, sticky day. However, aware that sooner rather than later Hayner would come bitching about hot water and electricity – surprised that he hadn't already, actually – he forced his hands up after a couple more minutes, dripping and trickling, and twisted off both faucets.

Silence haunted the bathroom as he quietly opened the small, rippled glass door, stepping out onto the damp mat on the floor. He could distantly hear Hayner's voice elsewhere in the apartment, muffled through the walls and hall and doorway, obviously displeased about something. Sniffing, the noise echoing around him, Roxas drew the towel from the rack, dried himself briefly, then tightened it around his waist. He opened the white door, wood trickling with light condensation, and reached over to the linen closet, grabbing a second towel for his hair.

Stiflingly warm air pressing against the lingering water on his skin, Roxas headed down towards the bedroom, Hayner's voice growing clearer and more insistent the closer he got. A spike in volume, genuine anger ringing in his friend's tone, and Roxas paused. He gazed down the hall, frowned slightly, then continued with wary curiosity to the sitting room, scrubbing slowly at his head.

Hayner agitatedly faced the sliding door, glaring out at Twilight Town as he argued with the person on the other end of the phone clutched hard against his ear. "No. _No. _You're not _listening," _he said carefully, teeth gritted against impatience. There was a beat of silence, then another, _"No." _He let out an irritable sigh, clutching his head and beginning to pace, ranting, _"No! _Listen to me, I'm _telling _you, I've been with this stupid bank since I was a _kid, _okay? My mom got me an account for my thirteenth birthday; I have been with you for _almost ten years. _I did _not _forget which _bank _I'm with, thank you very _much, _nor am I confused about which _card _I used. I _have _an _account _with _your _bank, and I even have two hundred and thirty nine _bucks _in it – so stop telling me I don't!"

Bewildered, Roxas entered the room completely, hair bedraggled now, tucking the towel against his chest and shifting into Hayner's line of sight with a questioning eyebrow. The other blond noticed him, sent over a frustrated look, shaking his head sharply. To whichever hapless bank official he was haranguing, he snapped, "That's ridiculous. Where the hell is my account? Your computer is _wrong, _buddy." He spent a moment letting the person speak, while Roxas took a seat on the couch, digging his arms into the damp towel and pressing it against his stomach, watching the stray drips slither down the hanging locks of hair in front of his eyes while he listened.

"You know what?" Hayner's voice rang scathingly in the small room after a minute. "Fuck you, and the horse you rode in on. I'm coming down there, and we're going to sort this out where you can be a condescending shit to my _whole _face instead of just my _ear." _He ended the call abruptly, looking like he wished he was on a phone more traditional than just his cell so that he could slam the receiver down and deafen the person on the other end.

He buzzed with angry energy, flinging over to Roxas, "Can you believe that these – these – _people," _– evidently no insult offensive enough was springing to mind –"are claiming that I don't have an account with them?" He stuck his phone fiercely into his pocket, stalking to the bedroom. "That's why my number didn't work the other day," he spat, the sound of various drawers being pulled open as he changed his shirt. He hadn't even taken the time to shower yet – no wonder he was pissy. "Not because I was being _thick, _but because they are claiming I don't _exist. _How about _that _for a guy's confidence, huh?" He reappeared, tugging a black tee down over his chest, ranting, "Eight years of loyalty, and for what? 'I'm sorry, sir, we have no _record _of your _funds _in our _databank. _Perhaps you're thinking of First Bank of Twilight?'"

"You couldn't ask for the manager?" Roxas asked calmly, aware that any ire he chose to display on his friend's behalf would only stir him into a deeper, more justified rage.

"I _did. _He's a _jackass. _I'm gonna enjoy meeting _this _guy." He stormed into the kitchen, snatching up his wallet from the counter, dragging a hand through his hair as he returned to the sitting room, eyes darting restlessly for anything he'd missed that needed doing. "Okay, I think I'm ready. I'm gonna run down and sort it all out with them, and I swear to God, I'm not leaving til I've got my money." He levelled a finger Roxas' way. "You. Don't open the door to anyone, and don't take anymore fucking showers. Don't think I didn't notice you taking advantage of my battle with the idiots."

"Hayner."

"_What?" _the blond snapped. Roxas met his fiery gaze placidly.

"Calm down. If you go in yelling, they'll get security to kick you out."

"_I _know, I know, I know, I know, I _know. _I'm _aware." _He took a breath, chest and shoulders lifting slightly, and put some effort into quietening down. "I'm calm," he assured, sounding a little strangled but generally more patient. He inclined his head towards the blond. "I'll get it sorted, and pick up something for dinner on the way home. I don't feel like choking down another burrito." As he headed for the door, he jabbed a finger into his left temple, twisting and reciting, "Remember: door, shower. Both a no-no."

"Don't know why you're bothered about the door," Roxas replied idly, attention down on a Struggle magazine that had been left on the coffee table at some point, fingers sliding through the pages. "After all, nothing ever happened… right? If nothing happened, I've got nothing to fear… _right?"_

Hayner paused, one hand on the doorknob, halfway out into the hall. He stared back blankly at Roxas' downturned, damp head for a moment, a measure of stillness finally penetrating his tension. "Jesus, Roxas."

The words were sighed out, then the door was shut, and Roxas was alone.

Blue eyes glanced up from the magazine, a hand smoothing down its glossy cover, fingertips drumming briefly on the surface. He exhaled softly, fingernails scraping along his scalp, and stood, holding the towel loosely at his hips as he went into the bedroom. His backpack sat in the corner at the foot of the bed, partially unzipped. Roxas crouched, dug through it half-heartedly, drew out a shirt and pressed it to his face to sniff. _"Ugh." _He flinched back at the peppery quality. God, how long did that stuff cling, anyway?

For the first time since it all happened – the first time while lucid, at least – Roxas found himself considering the red-haired guy. Axel. Grim satisfaction flashed through him at the idea of all this and more continuing to torment _him. _If this was what Roxas' shirts were like a couple days after the fact, then there was a fine chance the guy was still weeping like an infant and blind. With the slice in his cheek still holding beads of water from the shower, he sure as hell hoped so.

But still – he didn't think he could wear his shirts while they made his nose prickle like this. He really didn't feel like being reminded of it every single time he got dressed; having the reality of it lingering in his mind was more than enough. Grabbing hold of the bed, he pulled himself heavily to his feet, eyes slipping shut as the temptation to lie down on the soft mattress, the cool sheets, struck hard and clung. Oh, how easy it'd be to just crawl naked under the covers and sleep until everything faded away, all the intensity, all the thoughts, all the _exhaustion_… It had been so many, many hours since Roxas had last properly closed his eyes...

No, though.

No sleeping.

He shoved himself up straight, staved off the stagger that wanted to shake his legs weaker, and made resolutely for the drawers. He yanked them open, dug through and pulled out shorts and a wife beater, both too long, too large, but good enough for now. Hayner wouldn't mind, especially since Roxas was about to do some laundry for both of them. Grabbing up his backpack, he snatched up Hayner's dirty clothing from the pile on the floor and shoved it on top of his faintly mace-scented ones. Zipping it up, slinging it over one shoulder, checking to make sure he had enough quarters, he passed through the silent apartment, grabbing his keys from the corner of the coffee table, and exited out into the hallway, locking up as he left.

Down in the basement, it was actually cool for once. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as first one of the washing machines, then one of the dryers rattled and snarled with age, the room empty, quiet, Roxas sitting on one of the metal fold-out chairs with his legs apart and his hands folded over his stomach, staring into space. Every blink threatened to take him into unconsciousness, every breath frighteningly deeper and slower than the last as the inactivity continued, but, though it made his head thump fiercely and a bitter taste to spring up at the back of his throat, he remained awake.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd stayed conscious this long. It had been… almost three days now. The third night was approaching. That long without sleep. And in a way he felt like death, it was – dragging at his limbs, and eyes, and he felt so unhealthy, but… oddly enough, he also felt like he could keep going if he chose to. This wasn't the end of his reserves. Sure, he was maybe tapping into the final silo, but there was still a reasonable way to go yet. He was – capable of more.

At last, he was snapped out of his daze by the dryer finishing its cycle with a shrill beep that seemed to go on forever in the hush. Wincing as it spiked through his tender skull, Roxas eased up, shuffled over and dragged the hot bundle of fabric out of the machine, feeling the static electricity pass into his fingers, the light hairs on his wrists standing on end. He folded each item slowly, hands clumsy, pausing every now and then to rub at itching eyes, before shrugging his backpack back on, tucking the small, warm tower of clothing under his chin and making for the stairs. He ascended leadenly, toes catching on the corner of each concrete step, pushing back out into the natural light and heading up to the fourth floor.

As he levelled out again, making a sluggish beeline down the hall for the apartment, he disengaged one hand from the pile, delving into his pocket for the keys. He hooked them out on a finger, bringing them out with the light jingle of metal on metal. Glancing at his palm, he sorted through the tangle with a thumb until Hayner's spare was singled out, fingers clutching it in readiness as he approached the white door, featureless except for the brass number hammered to its front. The key rattled, twisted in its dark little hole, the lock disengaging and letting him in, only to find a stranger sitting on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, the Struggle magazine clutched in his hands.

The breath caught in Roxas' chest, steps freezing as the person's head turned, cold eyes digging into him, expressionless and yet somehow accusing with every ounce of being.

"_You're breaking up," _he said flatly. Roxas closed his eyes, heart wrenching painfully with the shock, a short, soft gasp pulling at his throat. He all but sagged against the doorframe, making the male frown. "Chicken-Wuss?"

Roxas went still, that note of familiarity striking a chord deep inside, blue eyes fluttering back open after a moment. "…Seifer?"

Whoever he _had _been was gone, banished like smoke, features once again recognisable, what had looked like dark hair turning out to be the ever-present beanie crammed over blondness, the blue eyes definitely cool but now touched with wariness as they took in Roxas' reaction.

"Well, aren't you a bundle of steely nerves," the man dryly observed, turning a page in the magazine and settling deeper into the couch.

Roxas drew a deep breath, weak all over, blood pounding at every pressure point, sharp-edged with the lingering traces of violent fear. "You know something?" His voice held only a hint of shakiness. "Just when it looks like you're halfway to human, you go and fuck it up, Seifer. Every single time." He closed the door quietly, tossed the keys onto the table with a loud clatter, and left the blond sitting there while he went to put the clothes away.

He heard Seifer grunt, then footsteps a minute later as he followed, calling, "Where's Chicken-Wuss the first?" Roxas was on his knees in front of the chest of drawers when Seifer appeared at the doorway, leaning against it with crossed arms and angling his gaze down. "And why the hell are you wearing his clothes?"

"What the fuck is it to you?" Roxas muttered tightly. He pulled open the drawers one by one and began to place the clean washing away. After a moment, he paused, turned his head and glared suspiciously up at the intruder, a smirk starting up on Seifer's face as he saw the next question coming. "How did you even get _in _here, Seifer? You don't have a key."

"Maybe not," the blond agreed smugly. "But the locks in this building are piss easy to pick. Blondie's lucky I don't come and clean him out every time he leaves for work."

Outrage flooded Roxas, the shirt in his hands slamming down to his knees as he demanded, "You broke _in? _Seifer, you are _breaking and entering. _Do you _realise _that that's supposed to be a _bad thing?" _As the older male laughed, apparently pleased with himself, Roxas scowled, returning to his task. "What are you doing here, anyway? Hayner's out, and if he was in, I'm pretty sure you'd already be bouncing down the stairs on your ass."

Seifer snorted his scepticism at the likelihood of that scenario, and answered, "I needed somewhere to hang out for a while, and what better place than the Den of Wussiness, where a big, strong man is needed to keep you both from wetting your pants every time someone knocks at the door?"

"Never mind that no one asked you," Roxas snapped, lifting up on his knees and jamming several shirts in at once. Seifer just snuffed a laugh. He stepped into the room, jumped over Roxas' hunched back, and landed on the bed while the boy continued to sort through the laundry. As he made himself comfortable, long legs stretching, hands behind head, Roxas shot over a puzzled, frustrated look. "Look, don't take this the wrong way or anything…" Seifer glanced over, an eyebrow arched, lips curved up in preparation to be amused by whatever limp insult the shorter blond was preparing to deliver. "…but – did you ever notice that you're not our friend,Seifer?" The man's head turned a little, the eyebrow lifting a little further. Roxas listed off on his fingers, "You piss Hayner off at every opportunity, you practically ignore my existence except to poke fun at me, you're a shit to Pence, always calling him names – all of us, actually…The only one who likes you is _Olette…"_ He dropped his hand back down, shaking his head. "My point is, _what _are you doing _here?" _

Seifer's eyes narrowed at him, mouth stretching into a slow, thin smile. "…You invited me, remember?" He made a show of getting comfortable, stretching a little, expression beatific. "Maybe you don't like having me around, and maybe I _do _deliberately try to make Hayner lose his cool and throw a bitch-fit… but this time, right now, you've got no one to blame but yourself." He smirked. "Hayner called _me_ because _you _got attacked, because _you _were acting like a freak and he didn't know what to do." Roxas' expression fell, darkened. "I got bored, and I felt like coming here, and there ain't nothin' you can do about it," the man concluded pleasantly.

There was a brief silence, before Roxas growled, snatching up the last of the clothes and standing. He glared down at Seifer, who was back to looking pleased. "You're _such_ a bastard," he accused. Shaking his head sharply, he added, _"God," _yanking open the top drawer and shoving some balled-up pairs of socks to the back to make room for the last of the shirts. Suddenly, he felt something sharp dig into the soft skin webbing between the base of his thumb and forefinger. With a hiss of surprise, he wrenched his hand back, slamming the bone of his wrist on the wood on the way out. Seifer threw him a look as he nursed his hand uncertainly against his chest.

"What's the problem, wuss?"

"…Nothing." Roxas shook his hand to rid it of the momentary sting, grabbed the handle to slide the drawer shut, remembering clearly the sight of Hayner shoving something quickly away when he'd entered the room last week, that feeling of having intruded on some private moment. He didn't know what it was that had jabbed him, and he wasn't about to go in after it and find out.

Seifer was another matter. "You looked like something _burnt _you in there, Roxas. What is that, Hayner's underwear drawer?" Eyes shining abruptly, he swung his legs around, sitting up with great, relishing interest. "What did you _do, _find his porn stash and a gigantic rubber dildo?"

Roxas sighed, replying irritably, "Don't be a jerk, Seifer. There's nothing in there, okay?"

"Says you," the blond retorted, grabbing Roxas by the forearm and tugging him hard, kicking a foot out from under him, standing smoothly as he toppled with a startled noise onto the bed.

"No! _Leave _it, damn it!" He struggled to clamber back up, Seifer shoving him back with a hand to the face, other hand already sliding the drawer back open. Roxas kicked his feet out at the man's knees, Seifer expertly dodging, complaining, "Gross, I think I touched your cut. Fuck, dude, that thing is going to be _nasty _in a few days." He delved into the drawer without compunction, digging swiftly around while Roxas drew his knees up and flipped over, crawling to the foot of the bed and half falling off in his lunge for the asshole, clutching one shoulder and yanking him angrily back.

For once, Seifer came easily, twisting away from the drawer and holding up a white square of card, thumb and finger carefully pressing one corner as he lifted it over Roxas' head and squinted.

"…The fuck?"

"God _damn _it, Seifer, you really are something else, you know that?" Roxas was torn between disgust and panic that Hayner would magically materialise at the doorway and catch them at it. He grabbed for the square, Seifer snatching it out of reach, a frown falling over his features. Roxas noticed the expression helplessly, dreading whatever it was that Hayner would have to suffer from this day forth. Seifer was _not _someone you revealed a weakness to; he would _use _it, and he would make life miserable. This was apparently the lesson Hayner had learned in the schoolyard, and it was about to be proven, all over again.

Seifer grabbed a handful of his shirt, twisting it sharply and pushing him down again onto the mattress, with as much effort as it took to swipe at a bothersome fly. A second later, the white square was slapped onto his forehead. "Relax, wimp. You're not even on it." His tone was suddenly different than it had been, the scorn and curiosity dried and dead. He released Roxas, left the room, boots clomping audibly towards the kitchen. Confused by the about-face, Roxas unstuck the article from the dampness that had beaded on his skin in the struggle, automatically glancing at it, thumb sliding over its glossy surface.

It was – a Polaroid. Like the kind from Pence's hobby camera. In fact… it _was _one of Pence's, he was sure of it. How else would Hayner have got hold of it? It was old, slightly faded, but the image was clear enough; it was unmistakeably of Hayner, Pence, and Olette.

Roxas' face softened at how young they all looked – completely trouble-free. The three of them were posed outside the gates of some big, old place or another, Olette with her hands on her knees, dressed in violent orange and khaki, Pence toting some dorky red sweatband, Hayner trying to look tough in army fatigues. She and Pence were smiling brightly, while Hayner wore the kind of long-suffering smirk that said he was way too old for this, but doing it anyway – probably because _they _wanted to.

It must have been taken five, six years ago. All those years… and even though he'd been too cool at the time, Hayner still had it. Hid it. Treasured it. It was a memento of simpler days – when life had consisted only of the three of them, of endless summers, and Seifer as the arch enemy.

Lowering the picture, Roxas frowned in the direction of the kitchen. Did Seifer not like being reminded of that? Was he really that _sensitive? _

…Naw.

Roxas flapped the Polaroid idly against his shirt, mouth twisting pensively at one corner, several moments spent in thought before he realised – he was still _holding _the damn thing. With a flood of guilt and sudden fear, he quickly stood, pawing through the collection of socks and underwear, desperately trying to recall exactly what part of it he'd thrust his hand into previously, when the accursed thing had made it presence first felt.

Biting down on his lower lip, he flattened the photo down towards the back of the drawer, then tidied the various items, smoothing and arranging so that hopefully no evidence of his and Seifer's tampering would be found. He didn't know for sure why Hayner had the picture tucked away like this, or whether he'd be embarrassed rather than mad that Roxas and Seifer had found it – Roxas albeit involuntarily, but he honestly couldn't see Hayner appreciating the distinction – but he just knew to the absolute bottom of his soul that seeing it constituted some kind of _betrayal. _

And oh, sweet Jesus – Seifer was going to tease him about it. Never mind his weird reaction; now that Seifer knew Hayner had a sentimental keepsake kept to one side where no one else would see it, he would make it his _mission _to take the ever loving piss out of him.

Before he could begin to fret in earnest, Roxas heard a coughing from the kitchen, followed by a second's intense gagging. Head snapping around, slamming the drawer shut with his palms, the blond went to wearily, worriedly investigate, when Seifer suddenly bellowed, _"UGGH! _Why the _fuck _do you chicken fuckers have _sour milk _in your refrigerator? Ugh, oh God, I _swallowed _that…"

Roxas entered the kitchen to find the man bent over the sink, white-flecked saliva being virtually vomited out into it, Hayner's beloved dollar-milk on the counter beside him. He blinked, startled, then couldn't help but fold his arms weakly over his stomach, sag onto the frame, and start laughing. If he'd had the energy to, he'd have pointed, as well.

Seifer slammed on the faucet, thrusting his open mouth under the thundering flow and letting it blast it clean, eyes squeezed shut. Roxas kept on chuckling, a helpless, almost hysterical pitch to it, digging the base of one hand into his top teeth to try and stifle the noise.

Eventually, Seifer had had enough. He twisted off the tap, coughing and spitting out water, obviously still with a taste on his tongue but maybe… minus the floating chunks the milk container appeared to be sporting. He remained there, panting over the basin like a drunk waiting for the next wave of nausea, fluid shining on the sides of his jaw. Slowly, he reached up to try and wipe it away, a clumsiness to his motions. His eyes stayed shut, and gradually, Roxas' amusement faded as he took in what seemed to be – a beaten expression on his face.

"_Talk about adding insult to injury." _It was muttered, almost beneath his breath. Perhaps if it hadn't been so silent in the kitchen after the pounding water, it wouldn't have been audible. But it was, Roxas heard it. He shifted against the doorframe, wondering what to do – help him somehow? Apologise? Get on the warpath and tell him to get the hell out, and never mention the Polaroid again?

Seifer's blue eyes flashed open, bleary at first, pinning Roxas across the room. He carefully pressed one hand against the edge of the counter, pushing himself up, sleeveless white trench coat whispering around his ankles as he stepped back, wiping his mouth. He paused, hand beside his lips, gaze digging into the blond, then said, "You'd have been in it, if you'd had the chance to be. He values you." He lowered his hands to his sides, straightened his shoulders, and began the trademark Seifer strut, aiming beyond Roxas for the hallway. "He values all his friends, to the most stupid fucking extents. All _you _have to do is look at the last couple days to realise _that." _He brushed past, bumping the blond with a hard, careless shoulder. "I changed my mind." His voice had regained its cocky obnoxiousness. "Somehow, the idea of hanging around this dump has lost its charm."

Roxas turned, following him with a scowl. "Seifer…"

The man stopped at the front door, throwing back a smug look. "I'll do you a deal – I won't tell your _boyfriend _that we went digging through his tighty-whities, if _you _conveniently forget I was ever here in the first place." Roxas jumped a little, feeling like his mind had just been read and his inner thoughts somehow mocked. Seifer narrowed his eyes. "So, are we good?"

The twenty-one-year-old blinked a little, then nodded. "Yeah. Fine. Whatever."

Seifer sneered. "Good." The door was slammed behind him, enough to make Roxas wince, and after that, there was silence.

Day passed into night, and then some. In a motel room towards the edge of town, a single light glowed inside darkness. All curtains were drawn, all appliances off, not a single flicker or sound except for fingers occasionally hitting keys. Colourless illumination washed faintly across the walls, creeping towards the room's dark corners but dying long before it could reach them. A narrow, flushed face and spiked red hair were lit sharply by contrast, situated right in front of the laptop's screen, green eyes bloodshot, staring.

It was the early, early hours of the third day's grace.

Slender fingers hovered as Axel read carefully through the information in front of him, trying hard to keep from blinking. He was so tired, his entire face feeling three pounds heavier than the rest of his body, like the skin was hanging off his bones, drooping, ancient and dried up and warped. Every time he closed his eyes, they watered, burned, stung, blinded him, all the more so _because_ he was forcing them to stay open to avoid precisely that, creating a vicious cycle of pain and yet more pain. There was no escaping the seared sensation of his sinuses and throat, the constant, dull throb behind his forehead. There was no moment or heartbeat in which his eyes didn't beg to be clawed from his skull; but it would pass. Eventually, gradually, day by day, he'd improve. A week from now, it would be a memory. He could last a week. He could handle this.

He was bent awkwardly into the space between the motel bed and the little nightstand, the laptop balanced on his knees, a slender cord connecting it to the landline plug in the wall, the room's phone disconnected and placed to one side. A box of tissues sat at his bare feet, half emptied, and from time to time he would reach down and tear another one free, blowing his nose as it continuously ran and tossing the soiled paper up onto the bedspread. He avoided rubbing or touching his eyes in any way, the eyeballs themselves like miniature suns within their sockets, the broad area around them raw from the boiling water and turpentine used two days previously to scrape away the oil.

Axel was a mess, and it was all because of Roxas. It was only ever because of Roxas.

Using a phone connection to slither his way through various solid-seeming firewalls felt amateurish, sloppy, would have been risky if he was some kid or asshole looking to let loose a virus or boost someone else's funds, but it was the only option he had at his disposal. All other channels of communication that were readily available to him would be monitored by any number of people; too dangerous. He knew only too well how unreliable these sorts of things could be – after all, he was monitoring others' himself, not the least of which was the Twilight Town Police Station.

He'd had a direct feed of their information since the moment he'd been capable of opening his swollen-shut eyes without wanting to rip at his hair and scream his throat hoarse with the agony. So far, no report had come in. Nothing about a blond kid getting jumped by a mysterious, highly identifiable attacker in his own home. It hadn't even been masked as a lesser offense, like a mugging, to put the cops on their guard without bringing them roaring into Roxas' private life. It had been two days, and there was _nothing. _

Axel didn't know where the boy was. He didn't know where his little friends lived. Everyone within a three-person radius of Roxas had been blanked from every record he could have got his hands on to track them down, so that even though he'd now got to the stage of being more than willing to seize one of the fuckers as they came out of the house and shake him or her til they sang addresses out of every hole in their head, he _couldn't. _Someone was _protecting _them. Someone _else _had found Roxas, long before Axel could, and had put measures into place anticipating just this scenario. It made his blood boil, to be foiled time and time again by this hidden entity, but most of all, it terrified the hell out of him. Not for himself, never for himself – but for Roxas.

It was only _ever _because of Roxas.

And just as he was about to shut down for the night, just as the hopelessness welled to the point of sending him to bed to stare at the wall, feeling small and useless, pathetic to the core of his being… the screen jumped. A slight beep sounded in the silence, Axel's breaths stopping completely, eyes forgetting to stay wide and blinking automatically, sending him into a flurry of burning, rapid winks, spontaneous moisture blinding him, teeth gritting together with the effort that came of not beginning to instantly paw at them. Although it pained him to have to postpone this for even a second, he forced himself to calmly take the computer off his knees, standing and carefully stepping over the short cord. He went to his bag, sat on the bed, and spent several minutes squeezing sterile isotonic solution onto each eyeball, letting it coat, surround, soothe to the point of stemming the tears that kept trickling down his face as his body attempted to rid itself of whatever the _hell _he'd managed to get into one of the most vulnerable parts of it.

At last, he was able to see again, though blearily, and, wiping his nose on yet another tissue, he sat back down on the floor, twisting the laptop carefully towards himself, reading the information that had come up. _Attack… red-haired suspect, distinguishing tattoos… blond victim… afraid to testify, reported instead by friend… pictures… _

With a frown, Axel accessed the pictures, a series of scanned-in Polaroids showing on the screen. Seeing them, he nearly blinked again, nearly made it start all over again. A bolt of ice flashed through him, followed by blazing heat, a tingling in his stomach and fingertips, breaths growing shorter.

_Roxas was staring out at him. _Roxas, with his sliced face, the injury that Axel himself had caused, but that wasn't what sparked such a reaction in him – it was the fact that that was… exactly the way Roxas _used_ to look at him. That flat, dull, uncaring expression. That look that screamed that he wouldn't hesitate to step over your dying body if you were in his path, with a single, scathing remark about how you'd slowed him down.

This was the Roxas that Axel loved, and had, for a while, lost track of. And beneath these pictures, there was an address for the police to contact him, should he happen to change his mind, and feel like making a statement after all.

For the first time in three days, the redhead smiled.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** I'm hoping things don't feel too abrupt at any point… I hope you guys like it! I can't tell you how _awesome _it is to be updating regularly again :D God, I've been in a coma or something. HURRAY FOR, UM, CONSCIOUSNESS!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Somewhere in the general region of two a.m., Roxas sat in Hayner's dim sitting room with the TV going silently in front of him, elbows on the coffee table, knuckles propping up his exhausted head. The wooden front of the sofa digging into his spine, he alternated between gazing glassily at the flickering images of infomercials, filled with frighteningly bright smiles, and the shadowy numbers on the papers between his elbows, illuminated by the light from the television. He was staying awake, resolutely rejecting the creeping notion that this couldn't and simply would _not _last forever, trying – being the operative word – to figure out again what was going on with his finances.

Turned out, going to the source of the trouble had done nothing but frustrate Hayner all the more. Oddly enough, having the bank manager condescend him to his face _hadn't _ended up being a major improvement. The tension had been alleviated somewhat when a couple of tellers had come forward to say that yes, Hayner was a long-term client, they recognised him from the various deposits, withdrawals, and complaints he'd made over the years – but none of that changed the fact that suddenly, with no reason whatsoever, Hayner's account had been somehow completely – _deleted. _Or lost. Or _something. _All his details – all his money – were gone.

This left the two blonds in an uneasy situation. The bank was not yet claiming responsibility for what had happened, and as a result was avoiding making any noises whatsoever regarding the topic of compensation. What funds Hayner had had, had officially been plunged into some unknown limbo. Combine with that the unexpected lack in Roxas' own account lately, and the boys found themselves desperately penniless, with demanding things like bills and rent to be paid, not to mention their persistent need for food.

It really, really sucked. Financial stress, they didn't need.

At least they were both functioning for the moment, at more or less full capacity. Even more than that, they were a united front again. Roxas had listened patiently to Hayner's ranting throughout dinner, and his apparent willingness to be a sounding board sans any attempt at giving advice had proven a more conciliatory gesture than three hours' apologising and grovelling ever could have achieved. It felt good; it was them against the crazy world, and that was how things were meant to be. It came as more of a relief than Roxas had expected – kind of like he wanted to hug Hayner really hard, only he couldn't, because then Hayner would call him a freak.

In fact, for the first time in so many days, Roxas had actually started feeling… _decent._ Sure, there were one or two things weighing on his mind, but he knew that _he _at least was back to normal when, despite it all, he felt a rush of positivity_._ Life went through hectic phases, that was all – things always settled down eventually, right? That intensity, it just couldn't _last. _It would _all _get better, it really would.

Then, Hayner had reached across the table for his glass of water – the dollar milk had been long gone by this point – and through half a mouthful of convenience store food, announced, "I saw you dozing last night. I was glad; as much as you might not want it, you really need it, Rox. Trust me, one night of good, sound sleep, and you'll be on top form. It's what every Struggler knows."

Roxas had felt such a terrible spike of panic at the thought. He'd slept? When? _How, _when he couldn't even remember having closed his eyes? _Vulnerable, vulnerable, vulnerable! _He couldn't stand it. His skin was crawling, prickling all over, heart clawing for his throat. He felt _sick. _

Back to normal, huh? Like hell.

And so – here he was, eyes open but virtually blind with fatigue, a brick wall of determination separating him from the slumber he knew that Hayner was right this very same moment enjoying in the other room, like he himself would have been a week ago. But… that had been then. _Before. _

Sighing quietly, Roxas forced his staring, light-headed gaze down to the various receipts and bank statements, sluggish mind struggling to make sense of the gap that shouldn't have existed. Maybe… maybe it was the bank. He'd got a local account when he'd moved to Twilight Town, and though it wasn't with the same one as Hayner's – Roxas _was _with the First Bank of Twilight – this latest dilemma had proven that thing _could _go wrong, like with the computers and people not noticing and stuff… It was a possibility at the very least. Roxas just didn't really know what else to attribute it to, without deciding that he really had lost his mind.

However, he still hadn't asked Pence for the sorely needed calculation help, so maybe there was something he was overlooking. If there was, it wouldn't take Pence's sharp eyes and mind long to pinpoint it and come up with a viable solution. God, he hoped so. Until then, until everything was fixed with both his and Hayner's finances, he supposed the only thing to do was ask Aerith for cash-in-hand wages from now on. Luckily, they'd been putting in all the overtime lately.

A thick breath worked its way out of Roxas' lungs. It was no good. He couldn't concentrate. It was all dancing numbers with nothing to hold them together. Lowering his hands, smoothing his fingers over the ridges of the papers' fold lines, he returned his blank eyes to the TV screen, fortunately deaf to the seductive entreaties to buy, buy, buy all the crap he'd never wanted or needed in the first place. In the overbright teeth of last year's flavour-of-the-month celebrity pimping the latest insect-control gadgetry, Roxas saw his night laid out in front of him, and had the good grace to feel depressed.

Hayner finally appeared after the first few hysterical trills of his cell phone alarm, scratching his armpits and stopping off in the bathroom before embarking on the short, shambling search for his temporary roommate. Sunlight burned strongly through the glass sliding door, the day already promising to be killer even at eight in the goddamn morning. With all the windows shut tight, the apartment was feeling like some kind of slow-roast oven, with a couple of dumbass blonds as the main course. Hayner groaned, wiping at the moisture already gathering on his upper lip, finding Roxas sitting at the kitchen table, skin glistening as he nursed a black, boiling hot coffee.

Upon seeing it, he groaned again, even louder, sinking into the next chair over. "You're _insane," _he complained, Roxas not batting an eyelid. "How can you _drink _that? Ugh, it's making me sweat just _looking _at it. Take it _away, _you're _hurting _me."

"My, my, if it isn't the princess, woken from her thousand-year nap," Roxas greeted, earning a thin-lipped glare.

"If I wasn't dying right now," Hayner informed him threateningly, "I would _smack _you."

"Just like they teach you at Princesses 'R' Us Academy?"

Hayner lowered his chin sulkily to the tabletop. "Stop being a sarcastic bitch so early. I can't keep up." Rubbing the damp bridge of his nose into his laid-flat arm, he muttered, "Just because _you're _not sleeping…"

"Aha." Roxas gave a pleased smile. "Exactly." He lifted his mug in a toast, then sipped at the burning innards. Hayner stared with heavy-eyed confusion.

"…What were we talking about again?"

Roxas lifted one shoulder carelessly. The taller boy thudded his forehead against the table's edge, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't know how you do it," he said to his knees. "I don't know how you can sit there and not be _smothering." _He tilted his face until one eye was exposed, squinting over at the bovinely placid, utterly sleep-deprived blond. "…How long have you been conscious now, anyway? Discounting the involuntary naps."

Roxas smiled blandly, suppressing the shiver that desired expression at the very mention of such things. "Would you like that in a subtotal of tens of hours, or just a rounding of days?"

Hayner expelled a low, sharp breath. "Ever since that asshole…" he began to growl, then cut himself off. The abrupt silence hung between them, the hazel-eyed blond's grunt of frustration a moment later soft, but audible. He let loose a short, irritated sigh, before declaring, "I can't take this anymore. I'm having a shower. I'm just –" He lifted his arms impatiently, bare chest and stomach visibly tacky with old sweat. "I need to get clean, and cool."

Roxas smirked a little, a flicker of alertness entering his expression, a slight diversion from the generally haggard appearance that had overwhelmed him at some point during the night. "'You are such a _whiner _in the heat'," he mimicked, Hayner looking at him with blank annoyance, before, with Roxas sending him a pointedly mocking look, he felt a tickle of remembrance. He attempted a scowl, but couldn't keep the rueful roll of the eyes from getting through. Flipping Roxas off – old traditions back in place – he rose from the table and shuffled off to get clean.

Roxas listened to the familiar hiss of water distantly, ignoring the small specks of light that floated lazily in his field of vision. He stared into his coffee, feelingthe weight of the many hours building up brick by brick on his shoulders, pushing his posture into a deeper slouch with each one that stacked atop the others. He was doing well, though. He had managed the entire night without even a flicker of unconsciousness, not even a resting of the eyes. Not that they didn't need it – God, they were begging for it by now. Every muscle and every exhalation _begged _for slumber, but he knew only that he, regretfully, couldn't deliver. He couldn't give in. Couldn't be exposed like that. He –

"_You're breaking up." _

Roxas jumped, spilling coffee, over his hand, the table. It was cooler, though. It was almost cold. In the next second, he realised with an intake of breath that the apartment had gone so sharply quiet that it was like he'd gone deaf. A knife had been sliced guillotine-quick between Roxas and all aural input, leaving him adrift in utter, utter silence.

But no, that wasn't right. He could – he could hear the traffic outside. Down on the streets, tires over hot bitumen. And… he could hear the birds, the crickets' constant noise. So it wasn't his ears, it was…

"Hayner?" Roxas stood slowly, peering uncertainly at the doorway. It was the shower, he realised – it had cut off completely. Between one second and the next, it had gone from rushing at full power to just being… _off. _And there had been no banging of the pipes, like always, _always _happened when you twisted off the taps too fast. There had been no final splatter of droplets hitting the tiles. There was just – there was nothing.

And no response from Hayner.

Worry stabbed hard into the blond, expression tight as he circled the table, visions of his friend unconscious and bleeding from some cranial injury after having slipped and fallen shuddering at the edges of his mind. His lips formed a thin line, a breath going in through his nose before he barked, _"Hayner!" _steps speeding up as he headed down the hall towards the bathroom.

At the exact same moment that he opened the bathroom door, saw that it was empty, there was a slight click from behind him – and Hayner stuck his head out of the bedroom, a curious frown in place, and said, "What?"

Roxas whipped around, eyes wide, stared for a long moment. "What… how the hell did you get there without me hearing you? Or – or seeing you?"

Hayner blinked, scrunched his nose, then asked again, _"What?"_

"You were just in the shower," Roxas exclaimed, bewildered, "only _seconds _ago – and then it went so quiet, and – I mean, it's physically impossible! You can't be over there, you're supposed to be in the _bathroom!" _

There was a pause, Hayner reaching up to scratch at his head, smoothing the damp waves back from his forehead, before venturing, "…Would it make you feel better if I went and stood in the –"

"_No, it would not make me feel better if you went and stood in the bathroom," _the blond exploded, hands tossing up into the air. Hayner raised an eyebrow.

"Dude. What are you _talking _about? I got out of the shower like five minutes ago."

With consternation, Roxas shook his head. "No – no, you were… in the shower, and I was sitting in the kitchen, and then all of a sudden it was _quiet, _and…" He trailed off, Hayner looking at him like he was nuts. Then, suddenly, the taller blond laughed with realisation.

"Wait a sec – I know." He was a perfect mixture of amusement and exasperation. "You fell asleep, I'll bet. You were just sitting in the kitchen, and you fell asleep and totally missed my debut from the shower." He shook his head. "You can't go _on _like this, Roxas – one way or another, you'll be snoring eventually, or you'll be _dead." _

"No," Roxas said sharply, making Hayner roll his eyes.

"Right, right, no sleep, not ever, _not _for _Roxas." _

"I didn't fall asleep," the blond snapped. "That's what I mean. I didn't fall asleep, because I would have felt it _happen."_

"Just like the other couple times it _happened?" _Hayner returned archly."What, you felt it then, but just couldn't be fucked putting up a fight?" Roxas was effectively stumped. As his expression fell, Hayner sighed a little, lifting his gaze to the ceiling and dragging a hand through his hair. "Roxas. Whether you want it to happen or not, you're going to end up passing out at this rate. We're not made to stay awake indefinitely, remember?" Roxas didn't respond, face darkening now, with every word that he uttered. Hayner clicked his tongue with irritation, changing the subject in an effort to distract him from his idiocy. "Listen, I've been thinking, and yes, it hurt – we have got jack. Shit in this apartment, as far as eats go. I was thinking that maybe we should head over to your place."

That was definitely enough to shake him free of the encroaching grimness. Roxas jolted a little, asked, "My place? Why?"

"Because," Hayner replied, leaning forward and stretching out to flick him in the forehead, disturbingly Seifer-like, _"you _have _food _at your place. Don't pretend you don't, because I totally saw it last week when I came to pick up your grey ass to bring you here. So unless your red-haired visitor decided to do some food shopping while he was there, you and I need to go grab some of it. We're out of burritos, thank Christ, but we're out of everything else, too."

Roxas hesitated, Hayner observing it, exhaling quietly and softening his tone a little. "Hey. You don't need to worry about the Axel guy, Roxas. We'll take protection, okay? I've got my Struggle bat, we'll pull off the foam and fucking _kneecap _him if he so much as _breathes _near the place."

Roxas couldn't help but chuckle weakly, rubbing the heel of his palm into one tired eye. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess. It's – the sensible thing to do. I've… I've got a few things we can grab."

Hayner nodded. "Of course it's sensible. It was _my _idea. I am a _pinnacle _of sense." Back to business, he disappeared into the bedroom, calling, "You might as well take your backpack, restock on clothes for a few more days." As Roxas cautiously hovered at the doorway, blue eyes drawn nervously to the chest of drawers, Hayner lowered to his knees, pressing his face to the floor and reaching under the bed. His voice came out muffled, continuing, "Then, I don't know – maybe if he hasn't shown his face, it'll be time for you to go home and stay there, Rox." He hooked out his blue-padded Struggle bat, then rolled over and sat. Leaning over, he hitched up Roxas' backpack from its corner, swinging it on one strap. "Like you said – nothing happened there, right?" There was a hard note in his tone, a challenge. He tossed the bag over, the blond catching it clumsily, feeling some of the contents knock into his sternum.

"…Right," Roxas answered. "Nothing at all."

Hayner's lips thinned a little, before a smile came out, looking forced. "Well, then, what are we even waiting for? This extended sleepover needs some munchies to keep us going, before we fucking fade away."

Together, they headed out of the apartment, Hayner turning as they exited to lock the door. Roxas eyed it untrustingly. "You know, you might wanna invest in a deadlock of some kind." Hayner, with his wallet jammed in his mouth as he fiddled with the key, made a muted, questioning noise around the fabric. "Oh, no real reason," Roxas uneasily responded. "Just that it doesn't look all that… dependable, you know, one single, simple lock…"

Hayner spat out his wallet into his palm and dug it, with his keys, into his pocket. "If you say so. Hasn't failed me yet." He shrugged distractedly, giving the door an extra tug to make sure it was properly secured. He twisted, satisfied. "Okay, let's get out of this dump. We'll be grabbing your fan, too, by the way – my place is _way _too hot."

"Consider it grabbed," the blond sighed, figuring that there'd be no way to give any real reason for the need for better security without opening the whole can of worms to shrivel in the heat. He just hoped despondently that Seifer wouldn't ever make good on that ability to 'clean him out every time he leaves for work'.

The blonds descended to the street, Roxas gripping the handrail hard as his leg muscles shook the whole way down, knees virtually shivering back and forth as they exited out into the piercingly painful sunlight. Both boys faltered under the cosmic abuse, the air dense enough to wade through, thick in their lungs like steam being inhaled. Roxas watched the fireflies explode anew in front of his eyes, while even Hayner seemed to stagger beside him.

"Oh, God," Hayner moaned. "I wanna go work in the shop in the air-conditioning."

"You can't," Roxas grumbled, hitching his backpack higher onto his shoulder and blinking through the haze. "It doesn't even open until ten."

"I don't care," the other blond complained petulantly. "I want the air-con." He tipped his head back, letting out a mewl of suffering. "Come on. Let's go. Before I melt into a puddle of Hayner-goo."

"Ugh. Sounds disgusting."

"Oh, screw you, too."

They set off towards the tram common, catching one rickety car full of late commuters who fortunately all but poured off two stops later. Able to stretch out now, rubbing where their hot arms had been briefly clamped together in the squeeze, they separated to opposite sides of the aisle, and endured the journey quietly. Despite the clearing of air between them, there still remained a thread of shared awkwardness, topics which had been silently acknowledged as out of bounds, represented by the Struggle weapon balanced across Hayner's knees like some kind of symbol of suppression. Thus, once again, they travelled more or less wordlessly, eyes directed out the windows, watching Twilight Town pass by.

They disembarked down the hill from Roxas' apartment complex, legs jolting as feet found the pavement, the tram car clacking steadily onward. As they took a necessary moment to steady themselves, Hayner sent an assessing look sideways, squinting through the brightness, taking note of the tight set of Roxas' features. The shorter blond said nothing of disconcertion or fear, made no sound as he swayed for a moment, fighting obviously for strength, eyelids beginning to flicker. Mouth curling down at the corners, Hayner warily asked, "You okay?"

Roxas caught himself, the swaying dying down, and didn't meet his gaze as he answered, "Sure." He sounded breathless, but was obviously resolved to go through with this, either through some form of stubborn pride, a silent battle with the red-haired attacker's lingering presence that he refused to back down from, or just because, like Hayner, he was hungry by now. With a small shrug, Hayner did the only thing he could to make it easier on both of them and took the backpack from Roxas' shoulder without warning or complaint, slinging it onto his own, the padded bat over the other, and started up the hill.

Roxas followed jerkily, watching the backs of Hayner's sneakers, copying him step for step in a mindless way that allowed him to not think about just how much energy this climb was requiring, devoured from already-leeched limbs. The bright and dark little sparks swarming his vision couldn't deter him when he was like this – it was too automatic, too easy to keep doing, and keep doing, and keep doing until they reached the top.

The awning of the ground floor cast a stretching shadow over the pavement, Hayner leading the way around to the side door with a faint Roxas following, closely now, only just restraining himself from clutching the back of the taller boy's shirt to keep steady. The inside of the building was a splash of coolness compared to the outdoors, slightly chilled by the backwash of the several portable air-cons going in the various luckier apartments. It was enough to give Roxas the ability to shake off some of the dead feeling, hands going instinctively for the rail as their shoes took them high again.

His apartment, when they finally reached it at the end of the long, third-floor corridor, was shut tight, locked up. Hayner looked to Roxas, eyebrows raised expectantly. Dry eyelids sticking shut every time he blinked, the blond stepped forward, awkwardly bringing out his keys. He clicked and clacked for a moment, having to concentrate hard just to get the key actually in the lock, before finally twisting it, listening to the quiet snap of it disengaging. He pushed the door open, admitting them into the airless, tomb-like space of the sitting room, destroyed, fixed up, and then abandoned, all in the span of a few days.  
Being here again was surreal. Roxas wasn't reliving the fear, he didn't half expect Axel to come leaping out from behind anything, but he kept looking around and mentally marking points where events had happened. That was where he'd been standing when the intruder had first entered. That was where he'd had his face gouged open. That was where he'd lain helpless on the ground, and the back of the sofa was where he'd tried… where he _would _have… stabbed the redhead hard with the window rod.

There wasn't a lot of emotion attached to these remembrances, but – surreal was definitely the word for it. He could almost hear the echoes of the two of them facing off, hanging on the still air, clinging to the walls.

Several feet to one side, there was a whispering slither as Hayner, without ceremony, twisted and pulled the foam off of the Struggle bat, leaving a slender metal pole shining in the sunlight, hard enough to withstand the years of slamming people around without bending. More than capable of a good kneecapping. Roxas had to bite back a shiver at the idea, but Hayner's tossed-over glance was bland. "You wanna look around?"

Roxas' gaze slid gradually across the room, panning from one side of the hush to the other, hesitating at the sight of the broken television, its screen smashed away, all the little chunks and slivers of glass long swept up. He exhaled slowly. "…Sure."

With Hayner close by, he closed the door and wandered further into the apartment, blue eyes roaming. He sniffed carefully, detecting the capsicum spray lingering on the air, trapped between the walls and windows all this time. His gaze was drawn to the spot between the kitchen and bedroom, that innocent-looking patch of carpet that Rai had so stupidly got down on his knees to inhale.

Hayner coughed a little, a quiet sound, but harsh in the silence. _"Pepper spray," _Roxas heard him mutter wonderingly.

Grimacing, the spike-haired blond headed over towards the window, the pole for keeping it shut missing, elsewhere in the apartment, his makeshift weapon gone. Fingers digging around the metal, he wrested it open, the tracks stiff, let the baked Twilight air swirl in, curtains twitching. He sensed as Hayner drew level with him, but kept his gaze firmly out on the view of the town, avoided looking over at him, even as the taller blond softly demanded, "Roxas, I think it's time you told me what happened here. And I mean like… _really. _Everything."

Roxas' eyes narrowed slightly, his hands pressing into the window frame. For a long minute, he didn't answer, Hayner waiting stubbornly for a response. A low, impatient breath came from his lips. "…I made my choice." He flashed over a glance, pushed away from the window, turning and heading towards the bedroom. "It was your idea. Why aren't you sticking to it?"

Hayner's eyes rolled broadly, an exasperated grating coming from deep inside his throat as he swung loosely around, swishing the naked Struggle bat through the air. "Because I don't have an 'off' switch like you appear to, Rox. Because my best friend _was _attacked, and asking for details at this point doesn't seem like such an unreasonable request." He rammed a palm into his forehead and rubbed hard as Roxas disappeared into the next room without even so much as a pretence at listening. "You say," he continued heavily, following doggedly after him, "that you don't know the guy that did it, but _he _knew _you, _and he made such a mess of you…" He paused at the door, leaning against it and watching Roxas' back disappear into the bathroom. "…and I can't quite get out of my head the fact that Seifer implied that you might have been…" He hesitated. "I don't know. Hurt worse than is… outwardly obvious."

…Outwardly obvious?

Inside the small, tiled room, Roxas had stopped in front of the mirror, sliding it open to reach the band-aids, knowing he couldn't go into work without something to cover the slice in his face. Aerith thought it was all stitched up and healing; she couldn't be allowed to see the scabbed, inflamed mess it was becoming. As Hayner's voice came to him from the bedroom, he had sorted through the small collection of plasters in the box until settling on the largest one that there was. Smaller than the one that Hayner had stuck on him, but broad enough to cover the carnage. Maybe some of the redness would be visible, but as long as he didn't mind having to rip adhesive off of the cut itself, he'd be fine.

As he'd slid the medicine cabinet shut, reflection returning, Hayner had uttered his final words, at first puzzling the shorter blond. He found himself staring at the scoop in his flesh, the ragged quality of it, the slight glisten of fluids that wouldn't have been there if he'd been taking care of it properly. A quick trip to the hospital, that's all he needed… but… he couldn't go. No more than he could take himself to the police. There was just – there was this blockade in his mind, and the second any vaguely rational thought rose up regarding the sense of what Hayner had been saying all along… something larger, and stronger, blotted it out in an instant.

His head was aching a little. He grimaced, averting his gaze and concentrating instead on pulling the papers off the band-aid. "What are you saying, Hay?" His cool voice echoed a little, bounced off the shower door and gleaming floor. "That he drove me nuts, or something? Pushed me off an edge I didn't even know was there?"

Hayner appeared at the doorway, wariness stamped all over his features, arms folded uneasily as he considered Roxas' tone. "…No, more like, kind of… more physical. But… not where – anyone's likely to notice."

It took a moment for these words to sink in, blue eyes once again coming up, blank this time as they met themselves in the mirror. "You think he raped me?"

"…Tell me he didn't." Hayner's voice was small. Roxas could hear the fear in it – he was afraid that his best friend had been badly, badly hurt, and that he hadn't been perceptive enough to notice.

The blond lowered his chin a little. "He didn't," he said simply. Hayner's relief was slow to come, but palpable.

"So, he didn't like – do anything to you in that way? He didn't – try anything? He just…" He trailed off. There was silence as Roxas lifted his head enough to study himself in the mirror as he applied the band-aid over his wound. Hayner's expression gradually screwed itself into a mask of confusion. "…Roxas, what _did_ he wantfrom you? Did he rob you? Do you owe him money? Who _is he?" _

Roxas' hands faltered, just the slightest amount, Hayner's unwavering gaze boring into him from the side.

How… how did you tell your best friend that someone had expressed a desire to kill you? And not even a desire – not a personal desire. _'Icky orders'. _He had been scared, he had been _so scared _by that at the time, it had been like getting slammed in the face with a slab of ice, but now it seemed so _fake. _It seemed strange, overdramatised, abnormal, insane – of _course _it was insane, who actually just out and out killed a person, on _orders _no less?

And then there was everything that had come _after _that to consider, the way that Axel had tried to grab him, had attacked so violently, the way that he'd… apologised, like he hadn't _meant _to hurt Roxas, and then gone on to sexually assaulted him right there on the carpet…

How did you _explain _allthat to a person?

If Roxas had to give an answer to Hayner's question – the one regarding what the redhead had wanted, not who he was, because Roxas just didn't have a clue_ – _he could only end up saying, 'Me.' Axel had wanted… Roxas.

"I just… I don't… _know, _Hayner. Stop asking, because I, I just don't." He flattened the band-aid's edges against his face, the other male watching on attentively.

"Roxas… you know that all I want is to help you."

"I know," the blond agreed quietly. His shoulders lifted as he inhaled, turning to the taller boy. "But there's nothing you can do that you haven't already done. So just… come on, forget about it. Let it go. It's not going to happen again, and I didn't come here today seeking closure. Remember? We've got food to pick up, and clothes, and the fan, to cool your apartment down." Determined, he added, "This trip isn't about _me, _it's about _us." _

Hayner dropped his head a little, eyes closing, _knowing _there was more to what went on than was being vocalised, _knowing _that things weren't right… but knowing, too, that right now, he really _had _done all he could. There were no more options, short of threatening to disown Roxas altogether. And at this point in time, he wasn't so sure that delivering such an ultimatum would end up helping _anyone. _He could – all too clearly, imagine Roxas walking away.

Sometimes, the duty of a best friend was to – know when to hold your tongue.

"Okay," he said simply. He folded his arms more tightly, a resigned lift to his brows as he met Roxas' eyes again. "Okay, Roxas. If that's what you want. We'll just… get the stuff then. Food. And clothing…" He squinted one eye, turning his head, muttering, "Oh, and cigarettes, that's right, I had cigarettes here…" He threw Roxas one last patient look that spoke volumes, before twisting away from the door and heading out of the bedroom.

Roxas exhaled, once again feeling that sense of having got his way, but ending up all the more hollow for it. His insides were dropping, taking his mood with it, but this was no grey phase he was heading into – he was just… unhappy. Stressed, and exhausted, and… everything. Life was feeling… altogether too difficult right now.

With a final glance at his newly-bandaged visage in the mirror, Roxas left his gaunt reflection to the things that it would do until the next time they found themselves face to face, and went to help rummage for edibles.

Aerith's was busy that afternoon, Roxas for once allowed to man the register while she herself swiftly went from place to place, keeping the store organised, replacing missing stock, and doing it with a damn sight less under-the-breath bitching than either of the blonds ever managed.

On occasion, he found her looking his way as she straightened from one task or another, absently brushing her gardening gloves against the pink of her dress, checking to make sure everything was going okay. There was usually a worried crease between her brows, as he worked the register, accepted phone calls, wrote down orders in the log book and printed out credit card receipts, but she had refrained, thus far, from approaching and confronting him about his absolutely shattered appearance. He was like the walking dead, his eyes hollow, skin almost grey with exhaustion.

Perhaps Hayner had said something to her about Roxas' current general state of being, because it was rare for either of them to be given an indoors job like this – she hadn't hired clerks, she'd hired manual labour, and so it was only ever out of the goodness of her heart that they were given the chance to stay in the air-conditioning. Then again, perhaps it was just because of the heat – yes, most days were hot anyway, but today had been markedly worse than the rest. While Roxas stayed in the shop, Hayner had been sent out on deliveries, for once enthusiastic about it since it meant he'd been permission to keep the windows wound tight and the air-con blasting right in his face. It meant he couldn't sneak any sly cigarettes – Aerith would freak if she smelled it clinging to the upholstery or wheel – but for once, he actually hadn't minded.

All Roxas knew, or cared about, was that if she'd tried to get him moving massive terracotta _anything _today, she'd have had an unconscious employee on her hands. From the glances she kept darting him, he got the feeling that she knew it, too.

The day progressed, Roxas making only a few fatigue-related mistakes – forgetting to give a customer his change, writing down an order incorrectly, utterly botching, for about five minutes, the connection between the register and the debit service. He didn't even know how he'd managed it, and in the end, it took Aerith's skilful hand to come sort it all out, complete with tactful silence. He figured she was just – chalking this week up as a dead loss, as far as her monkeys were concerned, and waiting for Monday to roll around fresh and sparkly-new.

Hayner got back at five, spent thirty minutes filing the various papers from the deliveries clipboard and noting them in the logbook, and finally, the boys were released. It was Friday night, Aerith had given them the weekend off to recuperate from the last several days' stress, saying that she'd shut down the store and go visit her mother in wherever-the-fuck-it-was-called's-ville, and for the first time in what seemed like a million years, all they had before them was the prospect of rest and relaxation. Well, for Hayner, at least – Hayner was looking forward to all the extra hours he'd be able to grab, napping whenever the hell he felt like it, recovering from all the lost sleep for once and for all.

What had Roxas to look forward to? An unending stretch of time that he knew, mentally, physically, and emotionally, he wouldn't survive without sleep. He had reached the end of his reserves, he was done; he had made it from Tuesday to Friday on nothing but what his body stole whenever it found him not paying strict attention, and now it was over. It was _over, _he had nothing _left… _he couldn't keep going like this.

The realisation came as they reached the steps up to Hayner's building. Twilight had enveloped the town, early as ever, afternoon and evening light overlapping, darkness beginning to overflow their quiet, sleepy town. The two boys had walked here from the tram stop, side by side, and as Hayner took his first step upward, Roxas just crumpled. His strength was gone; this was it. He hit the ground knees first, elbows following numbly, feeling, for a few seconds, like everything he'd ever eaten in his entire life was going to come wrenching up through his soul and back out onto the pavement.

Hayner was beside him an instant later, voice coming dimly through the haze that had sprung up to envelop his head, concern but most of all comfort radiating from his tone. Roxas didn't really need to be able to make out the words to know that Hayner just… wanted to help him up onto his feet again. He swallowed the thick saliva in his mouth, nodded weakly, reaching up with one trembling hand as Hayner gently pulled him upright to feebly wipe at the coat of sweat that had come out of nowhere to encase his skin.

Together, Hayner's arms wrapped supportively around him despite the hideous, clinging heat, they ascended, pushed through the building's door, and climbed the staircases, floor by floor.

"It's okay, buddy, I'm here, I'll take care of you. Everything's going to be fine. We'll get you in, get you fed, and just throw you into bed, okay? Bed, finally, you can sleep this off, Rox, you'll be fine." Over and over, the words were murmured, Roxas aware of little but the motion of his legs, muscles working this one last time with the promise of rest at the end of it all. He distantly wondered about a shower, but without Hayner there to hold him up, he didn't dare try.

He nearly laughed at the thought. He nearly laughed, just for the sake of laughing. He kind of felt like crying. He was going to be weak, and vulnerable. He was going to be exposed. He would lose himself, he would cease to exist, he was going to sleep and he was scared that he'd never wake up again. He would close his eyes as Roxas, and open them again as some lifeless being, a mere memory of himself, a nothing, a nobody. Again and again, Hayner rambled off the same promises and reassurance, with no clue that he'd be waking up in the morning next to a ghost instead of the real Roxas. Oh, Lord, he wanted to cry.

Then, "Olette?"

The girl scrambled to her feet from where she'd been sitting with her back against the door, still wearing her uniform from The Usual Spot, but without the apron or nametag. She wiped at her eyes and cheeks tellingly, sniffing loudly, Hayner staring at her, Roxas dizzily raising his head. "What, what's wrong with Roxas?" she asked, voice thick with shed tears. She continued sniffing and rubbing at her damp face. Hayner's brows came together, alarm and weariness warring.

"Never mind him, he's just feeling the heat – what about you? What's wrong? What's happened?"

She turned to face him head-on, hands dropping to her sides and forming small fists, expression not holding any pain or sorrow like expected but – anger. Determination. She swallowed hard, then asked, "Where's Seifer, Hayner? He's here, right? Isn't he? He's here."

Hayner's eyes widened, amazement and disbelief showing briefly on his features, before exhaustion once more took the helm. "Oh, no. Ohh, no, no, no, we are _not _having this conversation, not here, not now, not ever," he informed her, pulling Roxas over towards the door, nudging the brunette out of the way and burrowing through his pockets with one hand for his keys.

"Hayner!" Tears started back up in her eyes, distress building up. "Don't do this! _Please!"_

"Please _what, _Olette?" he demanded, fishing out his key-ring and attempting to sort through the collection while holding Roxas steady. "Can _I _say please, too? Please, please, please let me get my nearly-unconscious best friend into my apartment?"

She blinked rapidly, returning her gaze to the slumping blond with bewilderment. "You – you said he's just feeling the heat... He's going to be alright, isn't he?" Trying to gather her wits, she leaned forward, brushing a hand through Roxas' sweaty spikes. "Ro-Roxas? Roxas, are you okay?"

"I'm…" He struggled to come back to the more alert side of consciousness.

"He's not fabulous," Hayner interrupted, jabbing the key in and unlocking. "I need to get him into bed."

"Hayner –"

"Olette, I'm tellin' you," he said tiredly, "I haven't seen Seifer for _days, _okay? No offense to you, but I sure as hell wouldn't be near the guy through choice."

She responded sharply, shakily, "Well, that's more than can be said for him, isn't it?"

Hayner stopped dead for a moment, Roxas heavy in his grasp, eyes, for the first time, going over the blond's head and meeting the upset girl's gaze. "…I don't know what you're talking about. If this is what you came here for – never mind that it's been a week since you've even seen me or Roxas – then can you leave, and come back when you're feeling less paranoid?"

She bristled. "Don't act as if –!"

Hayner suddenly snapped, flung the door open, banging the opposite wall hard, and turned to her with bared teeth, flaring, "What, Olette? You wanna come in and take a fucking look around? Fine, then! Mi casa es tu casa! Don't forget to check under the cushions, I hear they're meant to be _great _fucking hiding spots. Or, hey, maybe he's just standing in the _corner _over there with his eyes shut! You can't see him, but it's only because he can't see _you!" _

He hitched Roxas up, virtually slinging him over one shoulder, and stormed into the apartment, leaving the girl to gape at the doorway. Roxas, by this point, was feeling a hell of a lot more alert, though. "Hayner – Hay, Hayner, you can put me down now. I'm okay, you can put me down…"

He found himself slammed to his feet, a set of fiery eyes briefly piercing his own, before the taller boy stalked off towards the bedroom, slamming the door behind him loud enough to reverberate three apartments down. Then, there was silence. Slowly, stunned, Roxas turned to face Olette, tears running down her face, eyes squeezed shut. "…Olette, what…?"

His voice was gently confused, but she flinched as if he'd started yelling. She hiccupped and gulped for several moments, before brokenly saying, "This wasn't how it was all meant to end up. I only… I only… I _like _Seifer, but the only reason he's with me is because Hayner _knows _I like him, and I thought… I could… but –"

Roxas shook his head carefully, stepping towards her, reaching out to touch her hair, her shoulder, holding himself up against the wall as her squeezed her. "I don't understand," he said, with soft helplessness.

She turned her eyes heavenward, sucking in a deep breath to try and regain some composure, voice trembling hopelessly. "Hayner. And Seifer. And me." She looked at a loss for several seconds, unsure how to continue, before her watery green eyes met Roxas' worried blue, and her fingers unsteadily traced the shape of a triangle in the air. "We're like this." As shock showed on the blond's face, she gave a thin smile. "O-only, I'm the one at the top, it's one of those – uneven ones. The two down here…" She poked her index fingers into the invisible points of Seifer and Hayner. "They're even, and, and face each other, and they're the same. But me…" Again, she returned to the triangle's uppermost corner, a bleak expression overtaking her features. "I thought it would be okay. Hayner said it would. And Seifer's always treated me nicely, but it was only because Hayner wouldn't…" Her hands dropped slowly down to her sides, Roxas pulling her into a bewildered hug. "I'm so stupid," she concluded dully, muffled against his arm.

He shook his head instantly. "No, no, you're not, you're _not." _She nodded, her nose moving up and down against him.

"I am," she insisted, and this time it was a whisper. He held onto her for a while, the two of them standing in the open doorway, no sound coming from Hayner, no sign of life. Gradually, the dynamic of the embrace began to change, as Roxas grew heavier and heavier on her. Olette stirred a little, began shifting, detaching a minute later and stepping back out into the hall. "I guess… I caused trouble for nothing," she sighed, sounding sadder than Roxas had heard her in the entire time that he'd known her, including when her childhood cat had died three months previously. "Seifer's not here. I suppose he never was."

Clamping down on all the memories of the cocky Struggler's presence in their lives the last few days, pretending they didn't exist, Roxas quietly asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

She sniffed, forced a parody of a smile. "Sure. I'll call Pence, maybe. You can take care of Hayner, and he can take care of me. It's all over now, anyway. I'm… I'm sure of it."

Roxas frowned uncertainly, lifting a finger, pointing to her and then the air beside her as he said, "You mean you and…?"

She was silent for a moment, cheeks ruddy from the tears, fringe a little bit sweaty from the day's heat, looking like some kind of wilting flower. "…I'm kind of tired of being stupid," was all she'd say, before pushing the hair from her eyes, giving that same false smile. "Take care, Roxas. Don't let the heat get to you like that, okay?"

Her footsteps faded, her plaited hair vanishing from view, and Roxas closed the door with a click. He stayed there for a minute, running all the information he'd been suddenly bombarded with through his mind. Hayner, Olette, and…? Triangle…?

He supposed… that it would explain a couple of things.

Pushing away from the door, feeling the broad dent in the wall from where the trail mix bowl had nearly taken off Hayner's head, Roxas stared at it for a moment, before turning and shuffling down towards the bedroom. He stood outside, listening carefully, hearing nothing from within. Steeling himself for a vicious reaction, he hesitantly raised his knuckles and rapped them against the wood. "…Hayner…?" No response. Roxas sagged slowly against the upright surface, the brief spurt of adrenaline from the drama leaking out once again, leaving him boneless. With his lips against the door, he eventually said, "Thanks for – helping me when I fell. I appreciate it." He paused. "You… Just…" His eyes slipped shut. "Yeah." He exhaled heavily. "Thanks, man."

He righted his posture, taking his full weight onto shaky legs, and made his way over to the sofa. What had previously been the enemy was now some long-forgotten friend as he collapsed onto its softness, legs knocking hard against the coffee table, the cushions accepting him willingly. As the blond curled up into himself, fingers shortly fumbling to untie his laces and lever off his shoes and ankle socks, he felt the fear thump in time with his heartbeat. _Vulnerable, vulnerable, vulnerable. _The word was pounding through his mind.

"…_You're breaking up." _

His eyes slipped shut, lips parting, breath pushing out in a whisper of, "But I'm so tired…"

Roxas fell asleep, his body shutting down, his mind drifting far, far away, as outside, another summer night finally claimed Twilight Town completely.

The third day's grace was over now.

There was no fourth.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **Okay, finally got it up and running, hurray! It took a little while to get over the moping, hopeless depression of facing rewriting it, and perhaps you'll see why once you've finished, but I found a good headspace after a while and it actually has ended up a little better, I think. Or, you know, I'll keep telling myself that ;) Massive, endless love and thanks to my Decorinne for her help in this chapter – she is a wealth of information on all things chemical-based and stealthy-like ;P

And, okay, I know what you're all going to demand when this chapter's over, so I'll tell you now: I'M NOT TELLING, MWAHAHA. So there. I'd continue, but fuck me, the next section is a chapter all on its own. I can write oneshots that make the scroll-bar teensy, but I can't write more than eleven pages per chapter. I gets twitchy-like.

And now, back into oneshot territory for the last time for a while (provided bloody Nijuuni doesn't draw anything spectacular in the near future. Direct all blame to her 8D)

And just… yeah, I'm really tired and busy with uni stuff, so please to be forgiving my current slowness in, um, everything I do. Would you believe that 'please to be' _doesn't _get the squiggly green 'you have shitty grammar, bitch' line underneath it? I call that a fucking tease 0__0 And I'm going to stop rambling now. I swear. I'm stopping. Right… now.

…I feel like drawing Zexy.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"…_You're breaking up."_

Clarity was painful, and detestable. It was cold; colder than normal, colder than confusion and internal rigour mortis, sharper than the knives that had attacked the heart and brain with vicious temper and justified self-loathing. Those sensations were the closest things to pleasant memories that Roxas could readily recall. If the owner of the voice had anticipated this bleakness that had stormed throughout the blond and frozen him indefinitely, Roxas would smother him in his sleep.

The sky was dark with cloud, a frigid wind sweeping along the ground and making stray, winter-killed leaves scrape the bitumen, the legs of Roxas' jeans moving stiffly as he sat at a lonely bus-stop in the middle of upper-class suburbia. Gloved hands tucked into the pockets of his thick parka, the blond waited patiently, ignoring the strands of pale hair that tickled his half-lowered eyelashes. Compared to the inner ice, the crystals of it that encrusted the walls of his veins and organs, this meteorological chill was nothing. He could have gone naked, could have watched on impassively as his fingers and toes turned black when the snow came, and still have compared the weather to a hot summer's day.

Traffic glided thinly by as he sat like a part of the hard bench itself, tires splashing through the dirty slush in the gutters, creating a background soundtrack of wet motion and life that was distracting. His thoughts were weary and disjointed, altogether too clear at any one point in time for him to dare to cling to for more than a few seconds each. In the weeks since he had started taking his various medications, Roxas had struggled to be scattered, or to simply not think. He had gained an overall blankness that the owner of the voice had uncertainly attributed to being side-effectual, never for a moment imagining that it was self-imposed. And perhaps this empty-headed state _was _a direct result of the chemicals swimming his bloodstream like piranha, but one way or another, Roxas welcomed and nurtured it, dreading the times when it receded and left him exposed.

The air was bitter, the tip of Roxas' nose numb. The blond could smell a storm on the way, and wondered where he would be when it happened. Would it come while he sat here on the side of the road, and freeze him to the bench? Would it wait until he was on the bus, and make the roads slick enough for the entire, hulking vehicle to slide out of control, perhaps killing him in some miraculous collision? Or, the most desirable – would it hit after he had returned to the owner's apartment; where it would freeze the water in the pipes, ice the doors shut, seal him away until spring came to thaw it all away and finally allow his refrigerated corpse to begin the process of rotting?

A guy could hope. Sometimes, he felt that such a hope was all that kept him going from day to day.

It was ten minutes to one o'clock. There was a scarf wrapped around and around his throat, not nearly as tight as he'd have liked. It covered his mouth, captured breaths keeping his lips warm, blue eyes more prominent than ever above the dark navy wool. The owner of the voice had insisted he wear it, and he hadn't been in the mood to argue. If it made the red-haired man believe that the medication was working, then it would be worth it – Roxas wasn't sure how much more of the nagging he could handle before he snapped and made all the effort to date utterly useless.

While he sat there, the minutes ticking past, the blond's gaze came to settle on the small collection of buildings on the other side of the road, the large sign against its high, gothic fencing proudly stating it to be a school of standing, prominence, wealth and success. Never mind that it was for elementary kids. That was just the kind of area this was; pretentiousness and stature oozed out of every door and driveway, money falling from the fingertips of all who claimed it as their place of residence. Roxas didn't have much of an opinion on it either way; he had nothing against riches. Money, sex and murder were what made the world go round, the owner had told him that often enough. Resenting such a fact was like shaking your fist at the ocean for being so fucking aqueous.

From where he was, the blond had a clear view of the school's playground, a slew of brightly-coloured climbing and swinging equipment visible, the grass a brighter shade of green than normal against the gloomy backdrop of the looming weather. All of it was empty for now, silent enough to almost believe that the entire place was dead; all the little children in all their pristine classrooms, bent over their desks and breathless, eyes staring sightlessly while teachers patrolled the desks and smothered any who dared to twitch with life...

It was… such a clear image in his head. He could almost imagine it happening as he sat there, unmoving, staring, just out of reach. A passive accessory who neither saw nor attempted to stop.

A pressure started building in Roxas' head, an ache behind the bridge of his nose. As the clocks hit one pm, a sudden, grating bell erupted within the school, distant, but close enough to make the blond's eyes squeeze tightly shut for a moment, as if it was inside his very skull that it was shrilling. It wasn't long before the children came swarming out, and now Roxas knew that he preferred the thought of them dead; like this, they were noisy, argumentative, irritating beyond all else. They screamed, they cried, they bullied, they laughed, they ran about in a variety of garishly coloured raincoats and boots, and not one of them was cute, not one. They were all hideous, repulsive, like miniature demons; they were the future, and it was a vile one indeed. Roxas felt his stomach churn just looking at them.

But then… like a little angel appearing from out of their midst, he saw one in particular who was familiar to him. The sulky line of her mouth, the scowl of her brows, the black-and-yellow bee motif of her raincoat; she was unlike the others. She was quiet, though he didn't notice the ones who were quieter; she was alone, but he didn't see the ones that were lonelier; she was a single shining ray of light inside the darkness, with wisps of curling blond escaping from under her hood. Somehow, to him, she was a paragon of everything good and right in the world, if ever such a thing could exist. She was… merely a child.

He watched her for a while, narrow blue gaze following her through the mess of playing students. He noticed the games that she favoured, the way she avoided the others, the people she chose to speak to and those she ignored. He was fascinated by everything she did. The traffic passed by, cars momentarily blocking his vision of her, but always he managed to relocate her. She couldn't get away for long.

Then out of nowhere, for a split-second, he felt a piercing pain in his chest, and it had nothing to do with anything physical. Roxas paled, jolting forward a half-inch, blue eyes widening, teeth grating together. A breath was sucked in through flaring nostrils, catching harshly in his throat, cold, dry. He swallowed it down, struggled to force his mind back to a blank state, and the little flicker of – panic, was it? – began to fade. The world grew a little duller.

Chest expanding with a large breath, he removed suddenly sweating hands from inside his jacket, splaying the fingers wide on the blue denim of his jeans, and focused once more on the school, shaking slightly. He reached up, pawed at his eyes, froze as a voice said, "Don't."

Ah, yes. The one thing no medication could take care of, unless it was a lethal dose of morphine that would block Roxas' consciousness forevermore. It didn't matter where he was, or in what state of mind: the boy, his pale eyes like chips of ice in an otherwise pleasant face, would find him even in the darkest of moments. He was everywhere, a stain that no amount of scrubbing could dislodge. He was a disease.

"_Don't."_

Roxas didn't glance over, kept his posture slouched, staring dully at the schoolyard as if no one had spoken. The boy had appeared out of nowhere – if only Roxas ignored him for long enough, perhaps he would _return _to nowhere. The bench vibrated as the boy shifted, turning sideways and staring hard at the blond. He leaned forward slowly, voice low, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Roxas remained unmoving, his only concession to the new presence being his fingers curling in on his palms, nails digging in. He exhaled softly into wool.

"I asked you what you're doing. Don't pretend you can't hear me. Answer me."

Roxas' eyes slid shut, teeth gritting together. Somehow, he never could hold out for long. "I'm just… I'm waiting for a bus."

"Liar." The word was sharp, the boy coming closer, icy, intent, threatening in the most subtle of ways. None of it reached his expression; it was, as ever, entirely in his eyes. Roxas knew he shouldn't have spoken, shouldn't have given him the opportunity to dig in any one of his all-knowing knives and gain purchase. This boy… he knew the blond too well. He knew his every blink, and precisely what they meant. Roxas couldn't lie to him successfully. And yet, he continued to try.

"No," he denied flatly, deliberately calm, forcing down his unease. "I'm just waiting for a bus. That's all."

One arm snaked out, hand clamping around the wooden back of the bench, boxing him in, the boy hissing, _"Liar." _Roxas didn't flinch. "Don't do this," the boy murmured next, and in his tone, the blond detected… a hint of pleading? His head gradually swivelled to face the boy directly for the first time, blue eyes meeting blue eyes. They were still so _cold, _so filled with rage, but the expression on the boy's face countermanded it so powerfully, it was as if he were two different people holding two different agendas. Roxas was momentarily bewildered.

Down the road, the bellow of a heavy engine alerted both males to the coming of a bus. Neither knew if it was the one that Roxas wanted, but both were aware that, either way, he would be boarding. Sensing time slipping away, the boy pressed on urgently, _"Do not do this. _You know, you _know _what'll happen. You can't keep going like this, _you're breaking up." _

Roxas scowled, muscles tightening. He shrugged the boy off sharply, climbing to his feet, chin tucked into his scarf. "You're forgetting," he said, the bus rapidly approaching, "that I'm already broken."

The source that fuelled the look in the boy's eyes came into precedence, as if compassion had only ever been an act in the first place. Voice like diamond, he told him, "You can break further. You'll split. You'll cease to be. Don't think that this is the lowest you can get, because rock bottom is only the surface. There's still Hell, Roxas."

The bus stopped, the doors sliding to one side to allow him access, but at the foot of the stairs leading up, he couldn't help but hesitate. He turned his face to one side, glancing only briefly over his shoulder. "…You trying to tell me I'm not already there?" he quietly enquired. When the boy had no reply, Roxas mounted the steps, paid his fare, found a seat.

He didn't look out the window as the bus slid past the stop, didn't need to; he knew that the boy would have already left. He'd abandoned Roxas to himself.

Axel was calm on the inside, agitated on the outside… or maybe it was the other way around. The time for leaving Twilight Town had come, and he didn't plan on making the journey alone.

Night had fallen deeply outside the curtained window, a single lamp burning on the nightstand of his cramped motel room. It cast steady shadows across the walls, disturbed only by his own restless progress back and forth as he swiftly packed his belongings away, meticulously ripping up any scrap of paper he'd ever used within the town's confines and tossing the pieces into the small metal trashcan on the carpet next to the bed. Body humming with tension, jaw tight, he zipped up his bag and threw it towards the door before heading into the tiny bathroom, turning on the light with a flash. The mirror was harshly reflective, showing lingering inflammation in his eyes, green irises more vivid than ever against the red stain, a constant, taunting reminder of just how badly he'd screwed things up. It shouldn't have been like this. _Damn it, _if he'd only shown a fucking _ounce _of self-control; there were a _thousand _better ways he could have handled their encounters. But – when it came to Roxas… Axel and control… they just, they didn't go together. It wasn't _there. _

Gloved hands trembling faintly, the redhead grabbed a facecloth from the corner of the small basin, moistened it under the faucet, then jammed it into the drain, wedged it in place with a twist of long fingers. Sniffing hard, he snapped a broad paper medical mask over his mouth and nose, adjusting it with his fingertips.

On the edge of the ceramic basin stood two bottles, one a bright blue mouthwash, the other appearing to be a children's cough syrup. He reached for the medicine. A healthy family, plus glossy dog, grinned out at Axel from the label, with an almost maniacal insistence that, _'Yes, this was the elixir that made us so damn happy! Buy it, fucker, and be just like us!' _The irony of what had been funnelled into the bottle's brown walls instead did not escape Axel, but right now he couldn't bring himself to laugh. Not tonight. Not when this was his last chance to make things right.

He unscrewed the cap, head drawn back to avoid inhaling fumes, and upended the half-bottle of liquid into the small, off-white sink. The colourless fluid swirled briefly, settled around the washcloth, before beginning the gradual process of being absorbed. A creeping sickly-sweetness wafted upward, Axel leaving the room and going to the bed, where a single Ziploc bag had been placed neatly beside the laid-out black fabric of his heavy, hooded coat. He plucked it up, smoothed it out, checked swiftly to make sure that the seal was working seamlessly – a leak wouldn't serve too well, now, would it?

Returning with it to the bathroom, he slipped his hand into the plastic, flexed his fingers, then reached into the sink, spreading it wide around the saturated cloth. In a deft movement, he scooped it up, turned the bag inside out with the washcloth on the inside, liquid gathering in the corners, and zipped it tightly shut. Tipping it upside down to test it's effectiveness, Axel gave a satisfied grunt, then slammed the faucet on hard, water thundering down into the basin as he went back out into the bedroom.

Bending over his coat, he felt about for the pocket, stowing the plastic baggie in deep, making sure it wouldn't be able fall out when he wasn't paying attention. Pacing back to the bathroom, he peered critically at the thundering water, picked up the mouthwash, added it, glugging, to the maelstrom. The overpowering scent of cold mint flooded the bathroom, erasing any other smells that had ever existed.

Leaving the blue storm to rage, Axel returned yet again to the bedroom, time pinching at his nerves. He snatched off the paper mask, snapping the feeble elastic strands holding it to his face, and dropped the whole thing into the trashcan to lie on top of the phone numbers, names and addresses he'd gathered during his stay. With the sound of the hammering water echoing out from the bathroom, he opened the small drawer of the nightstand, pulled out a book of matches, drew two and struck them simultaneously. The little flames flaring to life, he nudged the trashcan over towards the door, far away from the smoke detector bolted to the wall above the bed, and dropped them onto the flammable pile. The face mask caught instantly, curling, smoking, eaten away by flame. The rest of the bin's contents were quick to follow, the metal can briefly becoming a miniature bonfire, sides blackening wherever the fire licked. The blaze lasted only half a minute, a handful of ashes and some threads of melted elastic left behind. Axel picked the trashcan up, opened the front door, letting in a swirl of warm air, and threw the blackened, disintegrating remains into the night wind.

Closing the door quietly again, he placed the bin back in its usual position, went into the bathroom, finally turning off the faucet. Silence hit suddenly in its wake, making his pulsing heartbeat somehow louder than usual. The water bubbled and gurgled as it was swallowed bit by bit, an hourglass in fast-forward. The sink emptied, only a few shiny streaks of pale blue left behind: it was impossible to tell that there had ever been anything untoward inside it. Tomorrow morning, housekeeping would come, they would clean the place, and that would be it. Axel's presence would be scrubbed indefinitely away from Twilight Town. The next time he lay down to sleep, it would be somewhere far from here.

Standing at the foot of the bed, shrugging his shoulders slowly to make the coat settle more comfortably around his narrow body, Axel's gaze carefully burned in a circle around the room, taking in every inch of every surface, seeking any remainder of his stay. Steps measured, an element of calm beginning to seep through his being, he re-entered the bathroom, took up the cough syrup bottle, screwing the lid back on tightly. Straightening, he studied himself in the mirror above the sink, eyes inevitably dropping to the black of his coat, the silver glint of the zipper underneath the halogen light. Mouth quirking down into a grimace, the redhead suppressed a sigh, reached behind his shoulder, fingers grasping for the coarse fabric. With a tug, he lifted the heavy hood, slid it over the long spikes of his hair, feeling its weight over his brow, its shadow partially obscuring his features from sight.

He would play the part of the villain, if that was what Roxas insisted on.

Flicking off the light, Axel vacated the tiny, tiled room, pulling the door shut. Scooping up the long strap of his bag, he hooked it over his shoulder, left the key on the nightstand, switched off the lamp, and left the motel.

Boots crunching over loose bitumen, he slid through the night with comfortable ease. Green gaze forever on the lookout, he travelled down the line of silent doors, around the corner and into the back of the parking lot behind the motel. His rental car sat patiently, door open and waiting, duffel tossed carelessly in onto the passenger seat. Walking around to the trunk, he unlocked it, lifted the lid, stared dully at the two large, metal containers that lay within. Stretching a hand in, he experimentally grabbed hold of the handle of the nearest, tested its weight, double-checking that everything was as it was supposed to be. It was heavy. Something sloshed within as he shifted it, and, inclining his head faintly, he placed it back as it had been.

Shutting the trunk again, he went around to the driver's seat, the car dipping on its suspension as he climbed in and slammed the door as his feet found the pedals. He started the engine, released the handbrake, got the car into motion and left the parking lot behind, streetlights sliding over the windshield. Driving through the near-deserted streets, this hot, sleepy almost-beach town was quiet so late at night.

It didn't take Axel long to get where he was going; fifteen minutes later found him standing once more on solid ground, the rental shut tight but not locked, the trunk lid coming up again and the containers coming out. Their handles were cold, heavy, pressing hard into the black leather of his gloves, knuckles inside going white. Arm muscles bunched and hardened, but Axel was accustomed to such weights; it all felt so deliciously familiar.

A slow tingle of energy began threading through his veins, trickling into his arms, legs, up his throat and into the base of his skull, the first faint stirrings of a thrill that never died. Heart pumping the slightest bit harder, breaths stopping a little shorter each time, he slammed the trunk shut with his elbows, the keys already stowed on top of the front tire for when he returned. Footsteps quiet, soft, the contents of the metal containers making not a sound, Axel smoothly walked around the block, keeping to the darkness. No cars passed, no pedestrians were out. He was alone in the night.

Passing a long brick wall, the redhead turned a corner, and finally was standing at the base of the stone stairs to the apartment building in which Roxas' dearest little blond friend had a home. How cute that they were rooming together during such a difficult time.

How positively fucking _cute._

Axel adjusted his grip slightly on the metal handles, mounted the stairs evenly, placed the containers silently to one side and pulled a small collection of random keys from his pants' pocket, all useless scrap metal save for one, an unremarkable-looking creation except for a curious lack of teeth. Instead, a series of short, tiny, needle-like protrusions disturbed its smooth edge, disappearing into the lock of the building's main access door, locked tight for the night. He pushed it almost all the way in, then bumped it the last little way whilst twisting. _Click. _Easy, painless, and hell of a lot faster than using laborious tools.

Keys jangling slightly, he stowed them back in his pants, held the heavy, automatically-closing door with the toe of one foot, and swung the containers back up, one metal edge scraping the concrete with jarring loudness. For a moment, Axel stiffened, looking around quickly before disappearing into the building, senses extended to detect signs of motion nearby, the rumble of voices, the click of doors opening. He stood still and silent, just out of sight of the entrance, breaths stopped and waiting.

…Nothing.

Lucky, for all involved.

Chest relaxing, grim determination resuming, he continued onward, following the memorised schematic of the building he'd dug up from government records the previous night. It was old, and basic, the layout a cookie cut-out of so many other apartment blocks in existence. Finding his way through it was a cinch, especially when his only aim was the basement. As he opened the door, a gasp of cold air escaped past him, the temperature dropping steadily as he descended into the darkness.

Three rows of washing machines and dryers stood dormant before him, their white sheens showing dully through the black. Without light, he placed one of the rectangular containers down on the hard ground, the sound ringing out through the emptiness. Carrying the other over to the middle row of machines, he rested it briefly on one of the plastic orange chairs that sat beside them, then with methodical ease went along and opened every second lid, a silent length of ghostly-white soldiers saluting into nothingness. Turning at the end, long coat fanning out slightly, he surveyed the tableau, then strode back down the line and picked up the container on the chair. Unscrewing the heavy lid, clutching the container around it, he heaved it high, tipped it up, and began walking, steadily pouring the contents. Fluid splashed into machines, over machines, into machines, over machines, until the stench of petroleum filled his senses like ambrosia.

The first container emptied, he returned for the second, repeated the action, carefully minimising the amount that inevitably ricocheted back onto him. After all, it would serve no purpose to go down with the ship. If ever Axel was going to take a bullet, he'd make damn sure that his eternal soul got something out of the fucking deal first.

When the second container was half gone, the redhead stopped, righted it, cautiously skirted the growing puddles on the floor as he returned towards the stairs. Leaving the empty one where it sat on the ground, Axel proceeded to trickle the remainder of the fuel after him, dollops and lines, a dark snake that followed him up the steps, into the hall, all the way to the main door and back outside into the night. Under the moon, the jagged trail glistened, the man coaxing it across to the other side of the street, into the shadows, where he finally ran out of petrol, finally stopped.

The metal can was placed to one side, empty, useless, just another piece of evidence for the cops to later find, not that they wouldn't instantly recognise a work of arson when they saw it. His gloves left no trace, no sign of his existence, and even if he had managed to smear a print or two onto the steel, they'd never find him anyway. Axel was like smoke.

And speaking of which: the redhead peeled off his gloves, flecked as they were with flammable fluid, tucking them under an arm for the time being. From one pocket he drew the matches from the motel, their logo emblazoned on the back beneath the flint strip. He plucked one out, held it away from his body, struck it to life, and watched it flutter to the ground. The trail ignited, the flame scurrying away, over the road, out of sight into the building.

By the time it discovered the riches of the basement, Axel was already walking away, stretching his gloves back over his fingers.

For several hours, Roxas had been curled up in a ball on Hayner's couch, breaths slow and steady, dark, heavy circles haunting his sealed eyes as his body devoured the sleep finally granted to it. Every limb was like cement, a quality that he was conscious of even as he slumbered, an absolute inability to move. Eyelids only faintly flickering from time to time, he was swallowed by this exhaustion, consumed by it. Nothing else, in all the world, could possibly co-exist. He was drowning in it, likely never to resurface, and as he lay there, he felt something whispering in the back of his mind. Something soft, insistent, like a blunt fingernail scraping idly along his brain stem… and every time it came, it came like a heartbeat, it came with relentlessness, it came and pushed its breath across him like a… like… it felt… _so much_ _like being trapped…_

_Br…k-ng – u-…_

_BOOM!_

Roxas rolled off the sofa with a yell, every nerve, every muscle alive, every single piece and particle of his being screaming as the entire building shook. Dishes in the kitchen shuddered, a glass fell into the sink and was broken, the cutlery clattered together, an intense fifteen seconds before it all went back to being eerily quiet. It was only moments before Hayner's door burst open, the blond in his boxers, hair askew and expression wild, gripping the doorframe and demanding at the top of his lungs, "What the _fuck _was _that?" _

Eyes round, Roxas, a handful of couch cushion in one hand, the palm of the other pressed against the edge of the coffee table, shook his head. "I – I don't –"

There was a roar like a vicious wind blowing right through the apartment, and while Hayner's sleep-stricken mind was plunged only deeper into bewildered fear at the sound of it, there was something in Roxas that clicked like a bone slipping out of its socket and back in, an interruption that brought his thoughts to a stuttering halt.

The blond's eyelids flickered, lips slipping apart. "Fi…" Hayner stared at his blank expression with knitted eyebrows. Roxas' gaze was hooded, dull. "…Fire," he uttered faintly, and a moment later, as if on cue, a piercing bell began screaming through the building. Hayner covered his head, flinching down away from the terrible noise, Roxas' eyes drawn upward by a crash in the above apartment. "…We have to get out of here," he murmured, dazed, voice lost within the metallic cacophony. His gaze returned to Hayner's cowering form, lips feeling numb all of a sudden. "…We'll burn."

He slumped slowly against the couch, fingers slipping from the table, eyes losing focus. Grey crept upon the world, existence fading at the edges, a trembling deep within Roxas' core starting up.

Then, Hayner was suddenly there, jerking him up by the collar and bellowing, _"What the hell is wrong with you?" _He dealt a stinging blow to the back of Roxas' head, the blond barely wincing, and took one look at his expression before snarling, "Oh, no, not right now – you are _not _grey-ing out on me, buddy. So help me, I will kick your ass from here to next Saturday if you so much as think about it!"

Roxas was thrust away from the sofa, onto his feet, steps stumbling, but Hayner was right there behind him, snatching a handful of his shirt and keeping him up. He pushed and shoved the blond towards the sliding glass door, ignoring Roxas' stammers of protest. With the hysterical clamour of the bells all throughout the building, screaming in their ears, Hayner fumbled with the lock on the door, snapped it to one side, hauled the glass open with a swirl of night air and the unmistakeable stench of smoke. The darkness was chaotic with motion, the fire escape already crawling with bodies making their way downward, a fierce red glow providing a ghoulish backdrop to it all.

"Jesus Christ," Hayner breathed. "There really is a fire." He stepped out, the breeze ruffling his hair and boxers, hands wrapping around the cool metal of the rail, leaning over and gazing down with wide eyes. Roxas drew alongside him, fear prickling at his nerve endings.

"_Make way! Children coming through!"_

The boys' heads snapped up at the firm shout, bare feet shifting automatically back as a young girl and boy were sent down the extendable ladder, dressed in thick jackets over pyjamas, the girl of the pair toting a tightly-clutched teddy. Up above, Roxas could make out the grim faces of the parents, the male of which nodded shortly in acknowledgement before sending his wife after them.

Turning to glance at Hayner, the blond was startled to find himself alone, the curtains twitching violently across the doorway from recent passage. Grabbing them, tearing them out of the way, he stuck his head back in to demand of Hayner's retreating shoulder-blades, "What the hell are you _doing? _The _building is on fire, Hayner!" _

"I've gotta get something," the blond threw tersely back, jogging to the bedroom and vanishing inside.

Outraged, amazed, all dazedness wiped from his system, Roxas threw aside the long curtain, stalking after him, demanding, _"What _could you _possibly…?" _

He got to the doorway, Hayner barely glancing up as he dug through his second drawer, tugging free the photo of him and the others from inside a collection of shirts – it had moved from among the socks and underwear, Roxas noticed. Slipping the Polaroid gently between his teeth, Hayner yanked a white tee over his head while he was at it, forcing his arms through the holes, snatching it free a second later and swiping at his mouth. He shot the watching Roxas a hard look, holding the picture down by his thigh, out of sight, grabbing the blond with his other hand, grip strong. "You didn't have to follow me," he yelled over the noise, annoyed, pushing Roxas back out into the sitting room and following closely, poking and prodding him until they reached the balcony again.

They stepped out, glancing upward to see more of the building's occupants descending. Down below, the glow of the fire had intensified, though no sign of any flame could actually yet be sighted. "Get going," Hayner commanded, grabbing the back of Roxas' neck and steering him to the rail, the rusted ladder on the other side extending down to the next floor, still shaking from the last person to have gone down.

Eyes flaring wide, the blond stuttered out an indignant, "But –!"

Hayner all but picked him up and threw him off the edge, overriding his attempted objections easily, Roxas finding himself clutching the ladder's rungs, getting smacked on the top of the head with a short, "Down, boy!" being drawled at great volume into his upturned face. Frustration burned, but with Hayner already beginning to climb after him, wasting no time on the luxury of Roxas' pride, there was nothing to do but descend.

Smoke and heat strangled the air, choking and stinking, yet somehow still without a clear source. With their chins tucked close to their chests, the blonds made their rapid way downward, the rough rungs scraping at their palms. Then, all of a sudden, Hayner gave a dismayed shout. Roxas froze in place, head jerking back hard enough to crack his neck, in time to see the taller boy snatch frantically at the air… with the small square of the Polaroid fluttering down and away.

"_Jesus fucking Christ," _the blond muttered fiercely, and lunged outward with his right hand, snatching the photo as it passed by. He barked, "Hayner! Stop shaking the ladder!" Looking pale, Hayner grabbed on tightly again, nodded, and tucking the picture into his back pocket, Roxas resumed climbing.

They scrambled from ladder to ladder, three balconies to the ground, all the hours of labour at Aerith's coming in handy, muscles hardening and lengthening, breaths coming hard as they neared the bitumen. At this point in the descent, it was now officially fucking _hot. _Sirens of emergency services filled the air, but nothing could quite drown out the frighteningly nearby, voiceless snarl of flames, seemingly right below their feet. The ladder rungs were warming way too quickly, an incredible wave of burning heat radiating from the side of the building the lower they climbed. Sweat dampening his shirt, trickling down his back, Roxas threw a quick look over his shoulder, saw the ground nearing. He hissed between his teeth as he glanced up at Hayner's legs, feet mere inches from his fingers, then took a breath and jumped the last five feet, pushing away from the building as hard as he could.

Feeling the vibration, Hayner looked down, startled, then quickly lowered several more rungs and followed suit. The boys landed within several seconds of one another, slamming to the bitumen, and were quickly directed by approaching firemen to the other side of the street, where barricades were being set up a safe distance from the calamity, the building's inhabitants herded behind them.

It wasn't until they were finally able to stop, shoulders moving with their panting, in the growing crowd from their own building and the surrounding ones being evacuated by the steadily mounting number of fire and ambulance personnel, that they were able to see the full extent of what was really going on. "I don't believe it," Hayner mumbled, sounding shocked, echoing the low, horrified voices of those around him.

The first floor wasn't just on fire – it was being _devoured. _It was _lost, gone, _absolutely obliterated, and the flames were climbing. Every electrical appliance, every scrap of clothing, every section of flaking wall, it all served to fuel the blaze. It burned so hot, and so violently, that nothing could possibly have been surviving it. It was pure destruction. From the side of the building, where the boys had come down from, the flames themselves hadn't been evident – but around the front here, it was all too clear that there'd be little chance of redemption from this inferno. It was kind of looking like… maybe Hayner had just lost his apartment.

Officials were moving through the crowd, calling for everyone to start shifting back, the heat already beginning to reach out and caress their faces, dry their hair. Soon, the police would arrive, and lead the suddenly homeless mass towards the nearest refuges, while the fire services would… _attempt_… to control the wild blaze.

The expression on Hayner's face as he silently obeyed the officials' orders was one of stunned disbelief. Hadn't… hadn't they just, _just _been sleeping in that building, not more than – fifteen minutes ago? Hadn't everything been – peaceful? Or, or if not, then _close. _Okay, so maybe emotions had been running high, the last time he'd been up and awake up there, but it hadn't been anything that couldn't be solved. It hadn't been anything permanent. He'd been asleep, Roxas had been _finally _asleep, and things… things could have turned out pretty decently. They really, really, _really could've. _And now, his apartment complex was on fire. And Roxas…

Roxas.

Where – was Roxas?

Hayner stopped dead, twisted on the spot, found himself alone. He stretched up on his toes, trying to find the distinctively spiked hair that denoted Roxas' presence in a crowd. Dark brows coming together, he peered through the collection of despairing families and individuals. "…Roxas?" he called, his voice going over their heads. He turned again, scanning up and down. "Roxas?" He'd been beside the blond only minutes ago. They'd been standing there, watching the inferno rage, and then the fire guys had started ushering them all back further, and – where? Where had Roxas got to?

Hayner bounced up on his bare toes, yelled, _"Roxas!" _He wasn't worried – just confused. And okay, concerned, but only because he didn't want his friend to be alone anymore than he himself wanted to be right now… and… okay, so maybe Hayner just didn't want to be alone, never mind how Roxas might be feeling. Maybe he just needed – his best friend.

The crowd shuffled around him in varying states of dismay, faces blank, eyes grieving, but not a single one of them was the right person. Hayner recognised this one or that, but _none of them was Roxas. _A hand fell upon his arm, an official saying, "Kid, please, you need to keep moving."

"No, but my friend…" Hayner glanced around. Roxas – where could he possibly be? He had to be around here somewhere… unless – he'd wandered off? His expression, back in the apartment, it had been classic grey material. He'd seemed connected enough when they were climbing down the side of the building, he'd even rescued Hayner's Polaroid, but – what if it had just been a heat-of-the-moment sort of thing? What if, the second they were safe again, Roxas had promptly shut down?

What could Hayner say? 'Please, sir, my best friend who might be a little weird right now has gone off somewhere'? Roxas was twenty-one years old; they weren't going to rush out to look for him. They had enough to worry about right now. _Christ. _And he couldn't just wander off himself, he needed to find out what the fuck was going _on _here, he needed to know if, at the end of the night, he'd still have a _home _to go back to.

…All he could really do was keep his eyes open and hope to God that the other blond would drift into view. At least he wouldn't be able to get near the fire, not with all the fire-fighters all over the place. At least, Hayner hopelessly supposed, wherever he was now, it would be safe enough. Safer than here. He must have just kept going through the crowd when they joined it, and continued on into the night without… without a single thought in his head for Hayner.

He told himself he should be used to it by now; but all he could feel was a stinging disappointment, and a traitorous breath inside whispering that he wished he had a best friend who was halfway to normal. With no other avenue open to him, Hayner continued on, following the other occupants of the burning building, little realising that he'd never see Roxas again.

If only he'd known, he could have at least said, "Good-bye."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **I hope everyone had a great AkuRoku day! I myself completely forgot about it, woe, so let's pretend this is a belated offering :D It's the fastest chapter I've written in a long, long while ;) I feel all productive n stuff. (And erm, with that in mind, I'll totally be all over those A's F reviews this coming week).

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Roxas hadn't realised he'd lost Hayner until he was well away from the crowds, by which point it was too late to go back. He'd _told_ the other blond to follow him, had touched his elbow with an intense frown and said, _"Come on" _when they'd been standing behind the barriers, because over in the darkness a little way down the road he'd seen… a black-clad figure. The one from the mansion, the one who'd yanked him up and asked, _"Can you feel Sora?" _

But it looked like Hayner hadn't heard him, hadn't noticed. Roxas had abandoned the throng and flashing lights, had disappeared into the haze of smoke and left the glow of the fire behind, cautiously trailing after the figure, who had vanished between two buildings. It wasn't the smartest thing to do, but Roxas couldn't help but follow – in his head, all he could hear was Aerith's hearsay description of the arsonist that had destroyed the other florist in town, and he'd begun to connect dots. Whoever this guy was… no doubt he had to be ten kinds of crazy. No doubt grabbing the nearest cop and dragging him along would have been the clever thing to do. But… when the thought occurred to him, he just, he couldn't do it. His head… it ached. It – buzzed, like the sharp ringing of the fire alarm bells was still reverberating in his skull. Sensible thought didn't exist in this little sphere of existence that Roxas was occupying right now – only the clear, subtly insistent directive that he needed to go after the man in the black coat.

Bare feet sliding over cold pavement, he reached the corner, fingers trailing the rough, dark brick of the building, no light reaching into the alleyway but for what the moon chose to cast down. Taking in a breath, tasting acrid bitterness on the air, a fine film of ash, dust and sweat coating his face, the blond threw one final glance back the way he'd come, then stepped hesitantly into the alleyway, tongue coming out to dampen dry lips, heart beginning to beat the slightest bit faster. He could feel it pulsing in his throat, swallowed against it, ventured deeper in only to find that the guy had disappeared, probably down one of the side-junctures, and even with the flicker of warning humming to life inside his mind, Roxas continued on. The feeling was back, the tickling scrape at the back of his neck, like the ghost of a finger pressed into his spine, driving him forward with the slightest of touches. It was a shivery sensation, and one which he had – absolutely no inclination to fight. He had… to find the man in the coat. The man from the mansion.

_Can you _feel _Sora?_

Roxas slapped the back of his neck like an insect with prickled feet might be crawling there.

Then, just as he broke into a jog, hoping to catch up before the arsonist got too far away, the very figure of his determination emerged from the dark shadows at Roxas' left, unseen due to his black clothing, and grabbed the blond from behind. Roxas barely had time to gasp before he was slammed face-first into the wall, nose stinging, face numb, moisture springing unbidden to his eyes. Stunned, he had no time to react as he was then yanked back, an arm like an iron bar clamping across his chest, another wrapped around his throat, its hand snatching a handful of blond spikes and wrenching his head back far enough to elicit a crack from his neck, each inhalation suddenly hard to come by. All Roxas caught a glimpse of was the dark hood pulled low, before he was thrust forward once again into the wall, chest first, the air exploding from his body with a low, involuntary groan. A hard, lean body crushed into him mercilessly, breaths panting into his ear without voice. Roxas fluttered with fear, utterly helpless in the grip of a lunatic. It had taken seconds to reduce him to this; he hadn't even been given a chance. Low noises escaped his throat, eyes wide in the darkness.

A breathless, shuddering chuckle came from behind, hot air onto his ear, the arm over his upper chest pulling free while a shoulder instead jammed itself roughly between his shoulder blades, shoving him ever more relentlessly into the wall, pain bursting through his torso. "You came straight to me. Haha… straight to me." Roxas could feel the stranger shifting, could hear the rustle of fabric, then a more jarring crackle of plastic. When he tried to move, the shoulder rammed into him ferociously, the blond's weak cry of pain drifting towards the sky. "I didn't need to do anything… straight to me…" The voice, it was rough, quiet, nobody that the blond could recognise, mind and heart racing, teeth clenched together with chokes of air straining from his lungs. Roxas could smell petrol, then, with the crinkle of plastic occurring closer, a lighter scent, sweeter, more subtle.

Sucking in a faint breath, he pressed his cheek against the wall, trying to put some distance between them, and ground out, "Let _go _of me, you pyro _freak!" _

Another laugh, louder this time and holding a chilling edge of sudden familiarity. Roxas stiffened as the hooded man followed him in, leaning again over his ear and murmuring on a smile, "Seems like you remember me _after_ all, delivery boy…"

The blond froze, mind grinding to a halt.

…Oh, no.

The air stuck in his throat, heart feeling for a moment as if it had stopped completely, time stalling as the realisation struck with all the brutality of a blunt blow to the skull. He could feel a slow shiver starting under his skin, nerves and fear and horror and numb dread colliding. No, he hadn't remembered him, he hadn't even recognised him. Even with that laugh striking a cord inside his memories, he'd have continued to imagine it was the guy from the mansion simply because of the outfit. It hadn't occurred to him, not for a _second, _that _this _man was the responsible party. And the fire… oh, God.

Nobody knew where Roxas was. Nobody except maybe Hayner knew he was missing… and what could Hayner even do? Come running to the rescue, knight in shining boxers? His apartment was gone, the flames still burning – the last thing he'd think of right now, especially after recent events, would be hunting after Roxas.

He was alone in this, alone down a dark alley, _away _from all the commotion, with cops and fire services _swarming _a couple hundred feet away, so uselessly out of reach. Worst of all, he'd done this to himself. And now what? This guy had threatened to kill him last time they'd met, and Roxas _had maced him right in his fucking eyes. _Did that mean that this time…?

Panic threatened to burst forth. All this realisation had occurred in a three-second time period, thoughts whipping and whirling through the blond's mind, searching desperately for an out, a solution of _some kind, _coming up woefully, terrifyingly blank. Then, very abruptly, the storm fell calm around one single, gleaming idea. Roxas swallowed, cleared his throat, tried to relax, to seem non-confrontational, voice level and low as he said, _"Axel, _right?" Injecting more certainty into it, he repeated, "You're… you're Axel."

There was a slight hesitation from behind. The blond didn't dare to hold his breath, didn't twitch.

Then, very cautiously: "…What're you saying?"

Internally, Roxas soared, but he kept it forcefully out of his voice, insisting determinedly, "You. You're Axel. We're… friends." _Friends that make out on the sitting room floor?_ He stumbled for a second, then amended in a slightly strangled manner,"…More – than friends."

To his unending relief, the pressure between his shoulder blades lessened somewhat, allowing a full breath to be drawn. There was a pause, before the man said warily, "Go on."

_God. _The blond inhaled gratefully, but began to flounder, wondering what the hell else there was to say. "You, uh, you don't need to do this," he flailed tightly, staring out down the alleyway from his compressed position against the wall. "I know it was you who torched Hayner's building, but I won't tell anyone, because, because we're friends. More than friends. And… I… remember you."

Another pause, longer than the last. The pressure against his back didn't decrease any more than it already had done, but neither did it return to its original force. He could tell he'd set the guy off-balance, and now all he needed was for it to last long enough, for this lull to allow him a single window of opportunity, if only he could… _"What _do you remember?" came the faintly suspicious, so slightly hopeful question, to which Roxas blinked rapidly, before replying, _"You." _

It was starting to wear thin, his vagueness. The shoulder twisted warningly against his spine, Roxas holding down a grunt. "What _about _me, though, Roxas?" He pressed himself closer, hips to hips, that bone of his shoulder melting away for the moment so that they were chest to back, the taller man unrelenting with his arm around Roxas' throat but enveloping him with the rest of his body almost sexually, as though violence and sensuality could exist in and of the same moment. Both males felt the way the blond swallowed at the contact, both felt his pulse swing up, although the red-haired stalker _psycho _didn't yet know for sure whether it was fear or a positive response to his movements – or maybe he thought it was both.

Right now, even Roxas couldn't be a hundred percent certain that it wasn't.

He sucked in feebly, tried to steady himself, mind whirring and whirring and coming up empty of inspiration. "I remember… I…" He closed his eyes, heart rate climbing, sweat popping out over his skin. There was silence between them, and this time, Roxas didn't know how to break it, what to say. His mouth had jammed up along with his thoughts.

It didn't take long for the pressure behind him to change, to lose its sly aspect and instead become cruel, the man's body shifting abruptly and now crushing him, pushing against him smotheringly, as if he could flatten him completely against the wall, burst him open. _"That was mean," _Axel growled. His grip around the blond's neck became a stranglehold, completely twisting off his air supply in a sudden, fierce movement. He jerked back, heaving Roxas with him, the boy's arms finally free, hands leaping up to try and loosen the choking grip, clawing ineffectually at the thick fabric while his legs thrashed. Breathing hard into his ear, the man whispered viciously, crushing the boy's throat even tighter, "You like being mean, huh? More like yourself than I even thought, Rox."

Axel released him more suddenly than he was expecting, a wild inhalation and sagging of limbs following, before he was grabbed again by the shoulders, not even a moment's thought allowed before he was being driven forward towards the wall, as though the man would smash Roxas against it, head-first into the brick. The blond let out a startled cry, the first real sound he'd uttered since the man had grabbed him, and wrenched up his legs, instead taking the impact against the balls of his feet and kneecaps, skin scraping, forehead knocking against the hard surface but with only a fraction of the velocity it would have. He bellowed, _"Shit!" _then, _"Help!" _and finally began fighting back, at last given the room to, pressing palms and shins against the wall and shoving back against the man with all his strength. For several moments, a ferocious scuffle ensued, both of them battling for the upper hand, both strong, and both desperate.

Then, just when it seemed like Roxas was losing, a newcomer entered the arena: a voice called commandingly, _"Stop!" _and with all the abruptness of a switch being thrown, the two young men did precisely that, twisting in place like rabbits caught in headlights to face the intruding presence.

With the darkness as it was, it was difficult for Roxas to make out who stood at the end of the alleyway, faintly silhouetted by the distant gleam of the streetlights and more distant illumination of the raging fire. Behind him, however, his hands still tightly grasping the boy's upper arms, Axel, from inside his heavy hood, whispered, "Oh, _shit." _He turned sharply, hauling the blond around with him, only to stop again – there, at the other end of the enclosed lane, stood another figure, this one easier to identify, blacker than the night itself: a tall, slender clone of Axel in his coat, the same dark hood pulled low, the same clinging material, shining metal attachments dangling down onto the chest. With great, blinding clarity, Roxas was very suddenly certain that he knew precisely who that person was – or, if not who, from _where. _

"Axel!" Again, that strident voice, calling dauntingly from the other end of the alley, the redhead spinning around, dragging Roxas' hanging form with him.

Sounding flat, muffled by the hood, Axel responded icily, _"DiZ."_

Roxas, realising that he wasn't going to get a better chance than this, resumed his struggling with new vigour, twisting and thrashing in Axel's grasp, grunting and swinging his elbows. As the man snarled and shook him savagely, rattling him, the figure at the alley's mouth let out a rich, appreciative laugh that seemed entirely out of place. _Why wasn't he doing anything? _Couldn't he see that Roxas was being held against his will?

"Ah, now that's a good sign, wouldn't you say?" the newcomer called, merriment swimming through his tone. "Roxas doesn't appear to want to go with you, Axel."

"Cram it, DiZ!" the redhead yelled back angrily, and with a sharp motion kicked Roxas' legs out from under him and slammed him to the hard ground, where he stayed, stunned. Straightening up, Axel hunched his shoulders, furiously exclaiming, "This is bullshit! You're a fucking _cockroach._ You're supposed to be _dead!" _

Another chuckle, drier than the last. "And _you _are supposed to have alerted the rest of the Organisation to the fact that you have found Roxas. It would appear we're _both _breaking some rules." Voice suddenly darkening, the newcomer said, "It also seems that you and I have something in common, Axel. Roxas –"

The redhead snarled, took a menacing step forward over the inert blond's body, _"You stay away from Roxas. _Roxas is _mine, _he's –"

The blond chose that moment to swing his feet around and smash them straight into the back of Axel's exposed knee. The redhead toppled without a sound, leg completely folding out from under him, and though his hands were already clawing the air in search of the boy, Roxas had thrust away from beneath him and up onto his feet, already sprinting for the other end of the alleyway. The only one standing in his way was the original black-clad figure, silent as yet, looking immovable yet making no motion to stop the blond as he tore along towards him.

"_Roxas!" _Axel's panicked voice was drowned out almost instantly by the strident tone of the other man, who called after him, "Roxas! To the mansion!"

Although he felt as if he would be snatched at at any moment, the figure in black let him pass without interference, merely adding, "We can protect you." Then, astonishingly, Roxas was free of the alleyway, free of Axel, unmolested in his escape. He fled into the night, arms pumping, legs flying, trickles of blood drying down his shins from where he'd been shoved into the walls and ground, but otherwise unscathed.

Once he was out, though, he slowed slightly, hesitating, not knowing where to go next. Hayner's place was gone. His own apartment, Axel knew where it was. There was no one else he would choose to endanger – not Olette or Pence, not even Seifer, not when his petty thuggery was far outshone by Axel's sheer violent insanity.

_To the mansion. We can protect you. _

The only mansion they could mean was… the fucking pot place. What – what the hell? That was where he'd first encountered the man in the dark coat, and he _was _the same guy, the voice was identical, that low intensity was unmistakable.

But how did they even know who he was? Or _where _he was? How had they been in the right place at the right time?

_And how did they know who Axel was?_

He didn't even realised that he'd come to a dead stop, indecision and confusion halting him in his tracks. He couldn't stick around here, he had to keep going or God only knew that Axel would catch up to him… but where, from here?

With no one to trust in a situation like this – _where?_

"Get _out _of my fucking _way." _Axel's voice was a soft growl, the exit barred by DiZ's little patsy.

"Axel." The man was trying to sound reasonable behind him, slowly approaching. "You surely must realise by now that Roxas is not a well person… He isn't the boy he used to be…" He paused. "For one thing, he's kinder. Capable of actual emotion."

"Like you said," the redhead barked over his shoulder, "he's not well."

"But then again, maybe he _is, _for the very first time…" DiZ's voice held a tantalising depth of persuasive gentleness. "Maybe this is how he is supposed to be, did you consider that? No normal human being is as void in human emotion as was XIII before he disappeared. Perhaps as merely _Roxas, _he would be far more capable of… loving you."

Axel went very still for a moment, then lowered his head. His shoulders began to tremble, before a sudden laugh tore free from his throat, chin thrusting back, face coming up, eyes glittering as they glared into the black hood of his silent opponent. "Do you think," he said, voice loud, the laugh still in there but a dangerous edge slicing it through the middle, "that if I wanted _love _I would be with _Roxas? _You think too much, DiZ. That has always, _always _been your problem." He turned his head to the side, sharp profile outlined, adding coldly, "But then, maybe this time your biggest issue is that you haven't thought _enough." _The patsy was already moving as Axel twisted, lunging forward to stop him as he made a sharp motion towards the stiff-postured man behind him.

DiZ snapped, "Riku, _stay!" _but it was too late for him to alter his course – Axel, the entire thing a complete and utter feint, ducked swiftly under the other's arms and shot free of the alleyway like a bullet from a gun, sprinting as fast as his legs would take him, nothing in his mind except the need to catch up with Roxas before he got too far ahead.

_Damn it, _DiZ knew exactly where he'd be heading, too – he'd told him where to go, and Axel didn't know _where the fuck that was, _hadn't even known that DiZ was _in _this tiny little town let alone revolving his pathetic machinations around Roxas. If he had, Axel would have damned all previous ideas and just fucking grabbed the blond right from the outset.

_Damn, damn, damn! _

Where the _fuck _was Roxas?

"_Axel!" _

He hissed through his teeth as the patsy's voice drifted after him. _Riku, huh? _Another one who was supposed to be dead. Would nobody in this world just lie down and _expire _already? If only everyone was dead except him and Roxas – then it would be okay. Then they'd finally get a little _peace. _

Sending that silent wish skyward, the redhead put on a burst of speed, gaze darting about, trying to think as Roxas might in order to track him down again. A dampness grew along outside of one leg as he ran, silent curses bursting through his mind as he realised that the little plastic bag in his pocket hadn't been resealed properly since he'd started to take it out in the alleyway, was leaking all over him and losing potency by the minute. This night was turning into a disaster, and it had started off so goddamn _promisingly. _He could still smell thick smoke on the air.

This was stupid. No way was he finding Roxas just running through the streets like this. Turning sharply, he made for the direction of the rental car, nestled far enough away from the site of the fire to not be instantly found by roving police, or so he hoped. Behind him, giving chase, Riku also changed direction, a chunk of the distance between them vanishing far too quickly. Axel sprinted until he sensed the other man drawing close, then turned and savagely attacked, throwing a series of punches across his face and body, only about half of them blocked. Then, snatching hold of the front of his coat, Axel drove him back until the other male's legs tangled and he fell, the redhead landing on top of him, straddling him and yanking back his hood, gripping a fistful of long, silver hair and pulling upwards _hard._

"If this isn't the girliest fight I've ever been in," Riku gasped derisively at him, head jerking along with his hair, "I don't know what is. What's next, you gonna use your nails? Call me names?"

A fist to the face shut him up pretty quick.

"Where's Roxas going?" Axel demanded roughly, shaking him hard. "DiZ told him to go somewhere, now _where is it?" _

Riku laughed breathlessly, blood running down from nose. "You know what has always, _always _been your problem, Axel? You just don't think enough."

This was going to get him nowhere anytime soon – another square punch for satisfaction's sake, then Axel left him lying on the ground nursing his face and continued on towards the little egg-white car. He found it in record time, untouched since he'd left it, grabbed the key from on top of the wheel and unlocked, wrenched the door open, threw himself in and slammed it shut a bare half-inch after his foot. Throwing back his heavy hood to increase visibility and look less suspicious to anyone who happened to see him, Axel started the rental up, got it into gear, and roared forward, swerving into the street. He had to force himself to slow down; he didn't want to draw attention to himself with the authorities crawling nearby, nor alert Roxas to his approach. The blond didn't know he had a car, it was the only thing he had going for him right now. The element of surprise still had a chance of winning out.

Though it pained him, he made the search a methodical affair. Hoping only that Roxas hadn't headed straight back towards the burning building and relative safety, he prowled in ever widening circles, hunting through the darkness, not too fast, not too slow, and eventually came across the blond jogging barefoot down a side road. This late at night, the traffic had to be bare minimum; Axel doubted anyone had been by recently. As a result, upon hearing the engine and seeing the lights, Roxas spun, the glisten of his damp skin illuminated, his face looking dirty, and after a second's hesitation, flagged the car. Axel didn't stop right away: instead, he drove a little way beyond the blond before pulling over, as if it was an affair of afterthought. He left the engine idling, and waited. Roxas had come to him once – he would come to him again.

It was in his nature to do so, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

As the boy came alongside the car, unable to see through to the red-haired man from a combination of window tinting and the blinding wash of the headlights, Axel slammed open the door, straight into his legs, knocking him to the ground with a shout of pain and surprise. He was out of the car in the next instant, blue eyes down below widening with horror as the kid understood that he'd done it _again, _walked straight into the web like a fly _begging _to be trapped and devoured, and Axel knew that somewhere, somewhere deep inside, that was _exactly what Roxas was doing. _There was some part of Roxas watching these proceedings with a detached, unearthly air, completely uncaring and yet fractionally desirous that the farce be brought to an end.

Axel, as ever, intended to give him precisely what he wanted, and needed.

From his pocket, he tore out the plastic Ziploc bag, snatching hold of the back of Roxas' head as the boy tried to worm away, pinning his arms beneath his knees, wrenching his face back with the one hand while the other brought out the still-wet washcloth and compressed the entire thing over the blond's nose and mouth. He held it there, and _held _it there, and held it there until Roxas ceased struggling, his motions becoming weak, feeble, useless, until he _stopped. _The chloroform flooding his system, the blond faded away. His world went dark.

Roxas lost.

It took three hours for Axel to drive from Twilight Town to the Traverse domestic airport. Throughout the journey, he held Roxas against him, the blond seeming as if he were slumbering.

With as long as they had together during that trip, he'd had a lot of opportunity to study Roxas' face, the pale, placid expression of his unconsciousness, the dark circles under his dear eyes, the terrible, awful gash that he himself had inflicted upon him. For that, he'd deserved to get sprayed in the eyes like he had. He'd gladly suffer the pain all over again, in penance, as long as afterwards he had Roxas within reach. It – it _hurt _him inside to see that inflamed mess destroying the otherwise beautiful boy's face. It would need to be dealt with, as soon as they found somewhere safe to lie low for a while. He would atone for what he'd done.

Until then, he just held the blond tighter.

Arriving at the airport, he paid entry into the long-term parking lot, finding a space towards the back, out of sight of the guard station. Now that he was here, he would need to slow down his thoughts, take his time to meticulously execute the following steps with care. It wouldn't do to end up with everything falling apart just after he'd finally got it going so right.

He rested Roxas gently against the passenger's side door, then opened his own and went to the back seat, where the duffel bag of his clothing sat scrunched on the floor. Pulling it out, he continued around to the trunk of the car, resting the bag on top of the cool metal and unzipping his coat, laying it to one side before neatly peeling every scrap of clothing from his body. Standing naked, he used a packet of disposable wet wipes from within the bag to clean off his fingers, his chest and stomach, his legs, his wrists and arms, especially his face, anywhere that might have had either fuel from the fire or dirt and blood from the later fracas. The scented wipes eliminated the vast majority of the odour, so that even his experienced nose couldn't quite detect the greasy petrol smell. The clothes he'd worn, other than the coat, were shoved into a paper bag, rolled up, and would disposed of in a garbage can in the airport food court. The coat itself was returned to the car, stuffed beneath the driver's seat. At a later date, he would send for it, when the stench had faded from its fibres and the fire was no longer within anyone's minds. Luckily, he'd got it from a Traverse Town hire agency, so the chances of anyone catching a whiff of fuel and connecting him to the event were virtually nonexistent. Still, it never hurt to be a little cautious.

Confident of his cleanliness, the redhead next dressed himself deliberately from the selection in his duffel bag: a slightly wrinkled suit, not too expensive, not too cheap, just the sort of look to blend right in with the crowd. The greatest thing that made him stand out, his hair, was slicked down with copious amounts of gel and then twisted around his head into a loose knot, a tight hat placed over the top of it to hold it in place, so that, while the colour remained distinctive, the length appeared to come to just over his ears, only the ends exposed. The tattoos on his face were eliminated with a swift, skilful application of foundation, three bottles of the hue most suited to his skin colour travelling with him at all times for just such an occasion as this.

The final touch that came with eliminating himself from the eyes of all who saw him was a pair of coloured contacts – nothing major, just a duller green than that which he naturally possessed. He'd often found over the years that the most effective disguise was the also the most subtle; it was the little changes that made the greatest difference, not the act of turning yourself into an entirely new person. Making yourself into somebody you weren't was more likely to attract glances than simply dumbing down what was already available. He had dulled himself, and dull was akin to invisible in the minds and eyes of others. He now looked and smelled like a passably boring human being whose only foible would be wearing a hat indoors.

Next, came Roxas. Axel hadn't brought any spare clothes in the blond's size, having not anticipated the fire early enough to be able to cater to him. It was no matter, though; what he did have was a wheelchair in the trunk. Taking along chloroform to a job also automatically meant hauling a wheelchair wherever one went, for the happenstance of finding yourself with a heavily unconscious body and a need to hide it in plain view. Thus, dropping the duffel down onto the bitumen of the parking lot, he unlocked the trunk, withdrew the folded transportation aid, and set it up firmly. Rolling it around to the passenger's side of the car, he carefully opened the door, catching Roxas' gracefully sliding form as it attempted to limply escape. Gently, tenderly, he transferred the blond to the chair, seating him as comfortably as possible. Taking a blanket he'd also brought along, he draped it over the boy's knees for warmth, covering the scraped legs, tucking the edges in around his thighs, fingers tingling to be actually _touching _Roxas again. As he crouched there on the pavement, working diligently to push at the blanket, he gazed up at the blond, slowing in his motions to stare. For a whole minute, he stopped entirely, simply to drink in those features. He had been starved of Roxas for too long. To have him again, to be touching him, was more than he'd hoped for. He had been given… such a wonderful second chance.

He'd never let Roxas get away from him again. Not _ever. _

It if hadn't been for the chloroform still tainting his face, Axel would have leaned up to kiss him. He didn't want their first kiss in so many months to be sweet simply from chemical, though.

Rather, with reluctance, he instead returned to his duffel bag and pulled out another of the paper masks that he'd worn when soaking the chloroform into the washcloth at the motel, taking it back to where Roxas sat slumped in the chair and carefully drawing the elastic around his head, settling the mask snugly over his face to obscure his sweet features and the ugly wound. There was no way of eliminating the smell of smoke and sweat from his clothing, but the mask, that illusion of illness, ought to keep anyone from getting too close.

Finally, the two were ready. The very last things that Axel took from his bag were two plane tickets. Then, hooking the bag's straps over one of the wheelchair's handles, he locked up the car, making sure that he had everything, including the paper bag with his old clothes and the soiled wipes within. Taking hold of the chair's grips, he turned Roxas towards the bright spot of the airport in the distance, and began pushing.

Never had the night air smelled or tasted so sweet; never had this sort of anxious joy existed before inside of Axel's heart. With his love fast asleep right in front of him, going nowhere in the near future – going nowhere, period, without Axel – and a flight to catch that would take them far away from everything that haunted their existence together, his feet had never felt lighter.

Life, for once, was looking good.

The terminal was warm, stuffy despite the summer heat outside, the sort of thing that could cause riots on busier nights, but with the hour long since ticked over into the youth of the next day, there was just a low, gentle hum of activity. True to expectation, no one gave the thin man pushing the boy in the wheelchair more than a second glance. Axel was tired, his general weary air hiding them even more from sight; they were just a regular couple of people, not even a couple, making their way to somewhere else in the country as painlessly as possible.

With only thirty minutes to spare before their flight left, Axel went directly to the food court, buying a juice from the all-night newspaper stand to sit in Roxas' lap for show before stuffing the lumpy paper bag as far down into the most out of sight garbage can in the sprawling room. As easily as that, the last traces of his sin were gone. He wheeled Roxas quickly to the exit gate for their flight, appearing just as the final call was being sent out for their seating numbers. The attendants ushered him in urgently, allowing him to seat Roxas beside the window without assistance, taking the aisle seat himself and buckling the two of them in. The wheelchair was folded back up into its compact state by the stewardess and slotted into the overhead compartment along with Axel's bag, pressed against other peoples' carry-on luggage without a second thought.

Twenty minutes later, the non-stop flight to Midgar was taxying along the runway; ten minutes after that, they were in the air, with Traverse Town diminishing beneath and behind.

Axel had won.

Sora woke slowly.

He was tired of this feeling of displacement every time he came back to the world, but somehow, this time it was more pronounced. One by one, strange sensations registered: there was light beyond his eyelids, irritating and omnipresent; there was a cold, constant draught slipping through the room from an unknown source; and then on top of that, there were curious smells and sounds that he couldn't quite place. He felt nauseous, head thumping like a drum, somehow managing to feel thick yet hollow at the same time. The world spun, even with eyes closed, his stomach turning but too weak to actually reproduce anything. He felt – motion sick. The pressure in his skull was vile, sickening all on its own even without the uneasiness in his gut, and his body felt like lead.

Confusion seeped through him slowly, mind in a dizzying whirl, like swinging on a swing upside down while being twisted around and around. He couldn't find any anchored thoughts, no explanations for what had caused this sensation or strange alienation, and that in turn created yet more bewilderment until he barely knew what was up or down anymore. He wanted to groan, but could find no voice for it; wanted to shift, but could draw from no strength. It was as if his muscles were still sleeping, even with his mind gradually returning from the dark depths of nonexistence. He couldn't… couldn't figure it out.

The one thing he did manage to do was – open his eyes. Just a little. Just about – halfway. The effort it required was superlative, almost beyond him, but he needed to know what on earth was going on. The world was blurry at first, clearing slowly to his hazy mind to become that same dim glow of the unending light against… against seats? Sora stared hard, struggling to make it out, deciding after several moments that yes, he was looking at the back of two seats, brown and cream colour scheme, velvety sort of material.

…Why… was he looking at seats?

His mouth felt dry, a curious, chemical sweetness on his breath. When he tried to swallow, he found he didn't have the saliva to do so, leaving him curiously breathless. He inhaled slowly, swivelled his eyes to the left, and found himself gazing uncomprehendingly at a tiny, cold window that looked out into pure darkness. For a moment, Sora waited for the reason for this to rise up within his memories, but none was forthcoming, and so instead he directed his eyes elsewhere, over to the right.

A flash of red caught his attention, head turning a fraction, but with all the suddenness of complete, flooring shock. Blue eyes flared wide, Sora staring at the man that sat beside him with eyelids down, not quite napping but neither completely alert of his surroundings, or else he'd surely have noticed the gaze boring into him with all the intensity of a drill. It took a long while for the absolute astonishment to begin to fade, at which point something colder rose up to take its place.

Sora knew who this man was. He was Axel; one of the Organisation. There were slight differences to his appearance – shorter hair, lack of tattoos, more formal dress than the man usually indulged in – but he remained unmistakable. Piece by piece, things started to fall into place within his mind, fingers twitching slightly with an impotent desire to curl them into his palms tight enough to make the nails bite. Because, if Sora was sitting here beside Axel… on a plane no less, he finally realised… then that meant that…

Axel had found Roxas. Not only found, but by the looks of it requisitioned.

And if Axel had Roxas, he had, part in parcel, Sora as well.

Slowly, icily, the self-imposed veils fell away. Sora knew all, remembered all, everything that Roxas was too scared to face; and in gazing at Axel, Sora knew his enemy, the blockade to peace for Roxas, and freedom for himself.

At the moment, up here in the air, there was nothing he could do. Perhaps at no point in the immediate future would Sora be able to take them away from Axel, but nevertheless, he would lie low, he would bide his time, and he would watch for his opening. It would come eventually, and when it did, he would seize that opportunity, and they would again vanish into nothingness, become nobodies about whom nobody else cared.

It was what Roxas owed him, after all. This was the control that Roxas, in his darkest hour, had appointed to Sora.

Sora would not return to death. Not while Roxas continued to breathe.

He simply couldn't abide to sleep, but nevertheless closed his eyes, because strength needed preserving… and perhaps the next time he awoke, they would be somewhere where opportunity could again be found, and he could take his blond-haired, blue-eyed self to an elsewhere where they wouldn't be found.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **This one feels a little insubstantial, so don't worry, the next one's going to be started pretty quickly. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, I love writing this story again, and having _focus. _Lol, this is about the most attention HTPD's got since I started it. It's been… over a year now 0___0!

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Roxas had a dream that he was a cold killer with a conscience.

This conscience came in solid form, though to others, it obviously didn't exist, since it was the disturbed spirit of one of his victims. But to Roxas, he was very, very real.

And, moreover, quite angry at his plight.

Roxas sat inside the office of the little blonde woman, hands clamped between his knees, staring dully into her forehead as if his gaze could create a hole through flesh and bone, could bore straight through to her brain and destroy her reason for being here, the intelligence that had got her through school and into this fancy fucking high-rise with her perfect hair swept around over one shoulder and her pristine white little outfit and understanding expressions. God, just let him kill without restraint, and she would be the first to go, the top of his list, her pretty little body thrust through the nearest window to plummet straight down, bypassing the ground and landing directly into Hell.

"Roxas…? Roxas, I need you to look me in the eyes. Roxas, I can tell that you're listening, and now I need you to do as I'm asking."

He would take her slender neck between his skilled, strong hands and squeeze until she gasped and wheezed and turned blue, until the bones snapped audibly within his grasp and she lengthened like a swan, even more graceful because of his administrations. No doubt she'd be happy with that sort of existence, that sort of end. Who wouldn't be happy to leave this place? Who wouldn't be happy to be _gone? _

He would be so, so happy if she was gone.

"Roxas, tell me what's going through your mind right now. Explain it to me. Draw me a picture."

She had placed paper and pencils in front of him, a short rainbow of colours, no black. She did this every time, believed in the healing power of art, pictures by famous artists and previous patients alike cluttering her walls, some of them looking like they'd been done by fucking five year olds. She'd love it, _love _it if he'd just pick up the pencil and draw his feelings – she could prance out into the hallway when the owner of the voice came to get him and show him just how much of a good boy Roxas had been. All Roxas ever, ever wanted to do, though, was grab the red and drive it through one of her eyeballs, then the other, and then make art of her body by punching holes into it with the dull point, dots and dots and dots of gore.

But, rather than act out any of these fantasies, knowing that the consequences would be too dire, too _exhausting _to have to deal with, the blond instead spent the hour and a half session ignoring her completely, while at the other end of the room, in front of the broad, sun-facing window, his brunet conscience slowly paced. Sora never said anything much during these times with the bitch, but the very act of him being Roxas' conscience was that he mostly appeared right when a death was getting ready to occur. Oh, sure, he came at other times, monitoring the blond, acting as a chilly, reminding shadow of sin, but he was strongest when killing was foremost on Roxas' mind. Whatever vital component in his heart that Roxas was lacking, Sora fulfilled; he was the guilt of his subsistence, the voice that told him in no uncertain terms that he was a monster.

Roxas had never contested this.

When the session finally drew to a close, the little blonde bitch released him into the hallway to where the owner would be waiting for him, always right on schedule to make sure he didn't feel alone or more psychotic than usual, but instead he exited into darkness. He paused, inhaled slowly, and then watched the lights of the subway train flicker around him, the perpetual rattle and clank of motion washing across the world, around and through him, steady and monotonous.

He reached up, grabbed a hand-hold, gazed down to where the boy of his hauntings sat across the aisle reading a book with a thoughtful frown. _Clackety-clack, clackety-clack _went the train, like something from a children's book, like a woman in a library was reading aloud and holding the pages aloft for all the boys and girls to see the picture of the blond staring at the brunet, watching him live and breathe and imagining the time when he might be able to snuff that light of existence out from the world.

At this point of his life, Roxas had yet to recognise the face of his future conscience, but his actions before long would lead to their bonding. His dream self knew this, accepted this, welcomed it; that haunting would be his punishment, and while the blonde bitch and the owner of the voice, and whoever else chose to, might think he didn't know what was going on in the world around him, the one thing he could forever be certain of was that punishment, any form of punishment, was precisely what he deserved.

Perhaps shame would one day warm his frozen bones.

With a heavy head, and numb extremities, Roxas drifted upward through layers of consciousness, beginning from the deep dark and levelling out to a plateau some inches below complete awareness. He sensed natural light, a bed beneath him, but a terrible, dull ache in his hands and feet that made his features twist, an unhappy, mumbling sigh escaping his lips. There was music in the air, fuzzy and far away at first, but slowly approaching, like a conveyer belt bringing it closer, clearer, with each new layer ascended. Eventually, Roxas found himself touching the final barrier, molten and aqueous like the thin, membranous film between submersion and oxygen; then, without warning, his eyes flicked open.

He was awake.

Golden sunlight flowed down onto him from half a window, the other half covered by lemon-coloured curtains pulled partway across. Dirty glass lay beyond, spider's webs static and woollen-thick in the corners of the frame. Bleary, unquestioning blue eyes swept slowly sideways, finding the ceiling and its curious, mottled marks, like water from above was gradually, gradually seeping through to stain. The sunlight, he noticed, came in beams, rays that spanned from the window to the opposite wall, entire ballrooms of dust motes waltzing slowly within. The wallpaper was peeling, faded, pale navy stripes and tiny white flowers. The music he could hear was quiet, like a Big Band playing two streets over, but with the faintest hiss that spoke of radio airwaves, and a sense of proximity.

His hands and feet were really beginning to throb now; previously, in his slumber, the pain had filtered through so that some part of him even asleep was aware of it, but now, with consciousness building higher, it occurred to him that he was severely uncomfortable, not just his appendages but also his shoulders, his neck; everything hurt. It was all registering too slowly, frustrating him distantly. He wanted to understand, and he wanted to understand _now. _What was going on, here?

His gaze slid upward, along the length of his right arm and up, up, up to his wrist, suspended back and away from his head, a silver bracelet glinting hotly in the sun. The light bounced straight into his eyes, shooting pain quick to follow, the blond blinking and inhaling sharply, flinching his chin back down to his chest, hearing a slight clatter and jingle as he did so. He tried to move the hand toting the bracelet, and couldn't; tried to move his other hand, similarly up and back, and couldn't; tried to draw his knees up towards himself, and couldn't. He couldn't curl inward. He couldn't move. He was – stuck?

"Couldn't have you slipping away on me, could I?"

The voice came murmuring out of nowhere, bewildering Roxas. He looked left, looked right, struggled to lift his head and saw a figure with blazing red hair sitting on the floor in the corner of the ten-by-twelve foot room, over in front of the dull wooden door, hands playing idly with a packet of cigarettes: open lid, shut lid, twist, fiddle, rotate. Open lid, shut lid… Green eyes stared over at him, flesh pale underneath a black tank top, bare feet poking out the ends of similarly dark pants, toes curled in towards each other. Twist, fiddle, rotate. The Big Band song ended, making way for the dim voice of some anonymous announcer, and there, scattered around the redhead, were all of Roxas' things. The wallet he'd had tucked into his shorts lay disgorged upon the threadbare carpet, with Hayner's Polaroid from his back pocket as the centrepiece, just an inch away from the man's right foot.

As comprehension struck, Roxas jolted hard, pulling involuntarily as his wrists and ankles, gaze snapping up to find that he was shackled to the bedposts. Eyes widening, he demanded, chest hitching, "H-andcuffs?"

Axel inclined his chin in confirmation, glancing down as he folded the cigarette box open wide, like a gaping frog mouth, quietly telling the blond, "Got 'em from the sex store down the road." He slid a cigarette out, pushed the filter between his lips for a moment, then snatched it back and returned it to the pack, his every gesture unsettled.

Roxas' head fell back onto the pillow, heart pounding, pupils wide with fear, breaths short. His eyes darted around the room with fresh perspective, trying to figure out where they were, how they'd got there. Panic grew, hands again wrenching at their bonds, chest swelling and voice getting ready to come bursting out when the man interrupted, "If you scream, I'll have to shut you up, Rox. I don't want to hurt you."

The air came hissing out from between his teeth before he could stop it, face jerking up and snapping back towards him, all that gathered potential instead becoming a disbelieving, high-toned echo of, _"You don't want to hurt me?" _

Axel kept his eyes averted as he said, "I've been sitting here waiting for you to wake up. I had five hours during which I could've smothered you with a pillow, Roxas, but I just sat here and did nothing. I didn't touch you, not once." He crossed his legs, cigarette back in his mouth, and lifted his chin to gaze flatly over at the blond, hands limp in his lap. He gave a moment for the information to sink in, appreciated or not, and repeated, "But if you start trying to make life difficult, I'll have to stop you." He blinked hooded eyelids. "I don't want to do that." He tugged out a cheap plastic lighter, lit his cigarette, blew out a breath of smoke several silent moments later and continued, "You don't know where we are right now, and I'm not going to tell you, except to let you know that Twilight Town is far behind us. You can't go back there, ever."

Muscles tensing, Roxas trembled, wanted to ask, _What'll you do if I try? Kill me? …_But he was too afraid of planting the idea in his head. There seemed to be an absence of the enraged insanity that had possessed the man that last time they'd faced one another, but it didn't mean it wasn't still there, lurking under the skin, and Roxas absolutely _could not _forget his initial threat of murder, back in his apartment. He was terrified that this person was going to kill him_. He didn't want to die._

Axel sent him a long, level look. "What, you're just not going to talk to me? You don't care? Your little friends, Roxas, you're never going to see them again, do you care about that?" Green eyes suddenly narrowed, a ribbon of white curling up from the redhead's lips, a pause developing before, snake-quick, Axel's hand darted down to snatch up the Polaroid. With the fingers of the other hand, he tugged the cigarette from his mouth and turned it around, burning tip hovering a bare twitch away from the photograph's shining surface, Roxas jerking up as far as he could over on the bed and yelling, _"Don't!"_

His voice rang in the small space before falling flat. The redhead studied him closely, the cigarette remaining in position, Roxas with his head up, expression drawn and fearful, unconsciously pulling on every one of the shackles. Then, slowly, Axel raised the Polaroid, away from the smoking cigarette, waving it around to watch Roxas' eyes follow it anxiously. Thoughtfully, he decided, "…You care. So we're going to play a game, now. I say something, and you respond. Whatever comes into your head. And if you don't, I take it that you _don't_ care, and I burn your picture here of the Twilight Town gang."

Roxas' features morphed into a look of twisted pain and rage, before his body fell limp, handcuffs rattling, mattress bouncing slightly.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Axel told him, "but that's the last non-verbal answer you get to give. Remember, this is my game, and if you don't obey the rules, you pay a forfeit." Eyelids lowering, green irises darkening, he added, "That's the way it's always been between us." He smiled crookedly, expression growing darker still. "Although usually, it's been your game."

Roxas closed his eyes, squeezed his teeth together hard enough to hear them squeak inside his skull. "…Whatever you say."

Smirk lingering, Axel slipped the cigarette for the moment back into his mouth. "So, how about we start off with a question? Ask me anything. Ask me nothing," he flipped up the photograph, taunting, threatening, "and this cute last reminder of your buddies goes the way of your blond pal's building."

Sick anger bubbled in the pit of Roxas' stomach, at the manipulation but more searingly at the mention of Hayner's apartment. A sledgehammer hit his heart a second later as he realised that his best friend would now be homeless. No apartment, no possessions, and no… no idea where Roxas had disappeared to. Again, his eyes found the window. Daylight. How long had he been missing?

In the end, all of it was because of Axel, and the only question that – that _really _came to mind, the only one that nagged at Roxas right now, so dispiritedly, was, "Why _me?" _His voice was quiet, frustrated. Why couldn't this… have been someone _else's _problem, far away from Twilight Town? Why had the man chosen to focus all his destructive, obsessive energy on _Roxas? _Before, when he'd been trying so hard to not think about Axel, it hadn't been an issue, but… lying here, with so much falling to pieces for so many people, he just – he needed to know. For closure, maybe. For sanity's sake.

For a while, Axel didn't speak. He continued to smoke, not looking at the blond, knees drawing up and elbows resting against them. Was he thinking? Had he not heard? Was he refusing to answer that one simple question? Eventually, the man responded with a question of his own: "Where were you, and what did you do, before Twilight Town?"

Everything inside Roxas went blank, wooden, answer coming robotically from deep inside, "It doesn't matter."

Axel laughed a little, voiceless huffs of smoke, and drew a thumb meditatively across his nose, before forming the hand into a fist and suddenly slamming it resoundingly into the wall. The little room shook. "No? I think it matters." His tone contrasted the violence, casual and light, Roxas frozen in place over on the bed, staring stiffly at the ceiling. "See, I think it matters quite a _lot _what you were doing before Twilight Town," Axel continued pleasantly, "and for that reason, I'd like you to tell me exactly what springs to mind when you think about it." His smile was dangerous. "There's nothing you can say that doesn't matter to me, Rox."

The blond's breaths were shallow. "…I don't know." His head hurt, it ached badly. He closed his eyes, tried to inhale more deeply.

"You don't know? What you were doing?" Axel studied him for a long minute, then wiped his forehead wearily. "Well, what do you think of that, Roxas? You never stopped to wonder what was going on with that whole 'I don't know' thing?"

His temples throbbed in time with his heart, the boy wanting abruptly to do nothing more than hide his face away, keep it in darkness where the light that poured in from outside couldn't reach, couldn't pierce. "I just don't know," he grated, an edge hardening his strained voice. "I don't care, I don't know, I don't _care."_ Agitation levels were rising, heart rate increasing, the pain growing denser all the while.

"…Okay, then. Don't hurt yourself." Axel tipped his head back, sucked thoughtfully on his cigarette. "All right, your turn. Ask a question."

"I already asked you a question," the blond snapped fiercely, sweating, twisted up inside. Axel nodded.

"Yeah, but then you couldn't answer _my _question, so both our questions are out of bounds, now. They've been done. New rule of the game: can't ask the same question twice. You don't like it, that means you don't care about your picture _or _your little friends." He smiled coldly. "Either way, I win."

"Okay, sure, I've got a question for you," the boy spat out between clenched teeth, _"how long are we going to do this?_ You like power games, huh? How long before you're _satisfied, _you _asshole?"_

Axel's eyes gleamed, lips curving slowly upward. "...I just wanted to get you talking, Roxas. Otherwise you'd end up lying there forever, not saying a single word. I know how you get."

"No you _don't," _the boy angrily responded, though the ferocity was leaving his tone and mood; he was coming down from the spike of adrenaline, the headache receding almost as swiftly as it had occurred, aside from what already hovered. "You don't know me at all, you just… just _found _me somehow, and… and made it like _this…" _He trailed off, sucking in a deep breath, returning his gaze to the stained ceiling. He was quiet, then said, "You're my – psychotic stalker, and I wish you'd leave me alone. I wish you'd stayed away from me. I wish you _didn't exist."_

There was a short silence, before Axel let out a breath and sat back against the door, gently knocking his head against it. His eyes slipped shut. "I hate it when that asshole DiZ is right about things. I really, really do." Then, inhaling through his nose, cigarette almost finished, he conceded, "But I already knew that things weren't right with you, I guess. I don't really know what I was expecting, when I followed you to Twilight Town, but it sure as hell wasn't a situation like _this." _He was silent for a while after that, leaving Roxas to turn things cautiously over in his mind. Thus far, the guy wasn't seeming particularly… murderous. And yes, if his plan had been to kill Roxas, he could have already done so. He had the blond handcuffed to a bed, but that was the extent of it so far. He didn't like to think about whatever the future might hold right now – there was nothing in it that could bode well for him – but as long as Axel was being… some _form _of rational…

But still, where did that leave Roxas? The guy had kidnapped him, he'd been _abducted, _but if he wasn't going to turn up in a dumpster somewhere, then where _was _he going to end up?

Steeling himself, keeping in nature with 'the game', he stiffly asked, "So, what are you going to do with me?"

Axel grimaced, glanced over to the brightness of the window. "…Well. That's the question, isn't it? Because you're out of your fucking mind, and I can hazard a guess that Xemnas isn't going to like that much." He blew out the last breath of smoke, crushing the butt in the glass ashtray next to his foot. Spreading his hands, he sent the blond a dully beseeching look and asked, "What do you propose, Rox? What _should _I do with you?"

"_I'm_ not out of my mind," the boy replied sharply, eyes glittering. "Remember? You're the one who's been stalking me, the one who thinks he _knows _me. Don't you _get _it yet? Before you ordered flowers from my boss' company, _I had never set eyes on you. _I didn't know you, I _don't _know you, and all of _this _is what's crazy – not me!"

"You want to know what's crazy?" the redhead countered, pale brows rising. "In a couple days' time, your little friends are going to file a missing persons report on you, because that's what friends do when their play-date doesn't show up a few times in a row. And the cops are going to tip themselves off their chairs to go sniffing around for you. They'll have my description, and pictures of you from when I hurt you last, and a whole heap of suspicion, but then you know what's going to happen? A week into the investigation?" He tilted his head, smiling bitterly. "It's going to get called off. Someone, somewhere, is going to claim they're your family, and that you came home. They'll provide pictures, maybe, and a police report confirming it, and that'll be that. You won't be missing anymore, and it won't matter how much your pals bleat about it, the whole thing will be dropped." He blew out a short, frustrated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "And then, the clock will be ticking on us."

The blond gazed at him levelly. "…That's impossible. There's no one who would do something like that. I mean – what the hell kind of conspiracy are you trying to sell me?"

Axel thought for a minute, watching him, forehead resting against one palm. "…Look. I can't… take you anywhere, Roxas. I mean, I don't mean that literally – we won't be staying at this motel long – but I mean that…" He leaned forward, pushing his fingernails across his scalp, frowning. "I don't know what's wrong with you right now. Your memory is all just – screwed. I don't know. I don't know what _happened _to you, but what I _do _know is that I can't let the Organisation find you like this." He shook his head. "I just don't know what Xemnas would do if he knew you were like this," he said bluntly. "Except that I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be good." He gave a slight laugh. "You don't even know what you're involved in, though, do you, Rox? You don't know a damn thing." He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, "I'm getting a headache."

There was silence, but this time, Axel didn't expect Roxas to fill it, leaving that to the softly playing radio. The game, for now, was over. There was nothing left to be said; Roxas couldn't think of a single thing to help himself in this situation, no reasoning, no pleas, and – at least while the guy was right here – he couldn't even yell for help. He would have to… wait, and hope that whatever happened, he would survive it long enough to find a way to escape.

Over by the door, after some quiet minutes had passed, Axel grunted, lifted his head from his hand, and pushed himself resignedly to his feet. With the Polaroid in hand, he walked over towards the bed, the blond tensing warily as he approached. Flicking the photo above him, he said, "I'll hang onto this for a while." He tucked it into his back pocket. "I'll give it back to you when I've decided you're being a _good _boy." Opening the top drawer of the nightstand, he pulled out, with a clunk of glass on wood, an unopened bottle of bourbon, and assumed a businesslike expression. "Anyway. It's time I did something about that gash on your face." Scowling as he twisted off the lid, breaking the bottle's red seal, he asked, "Why didn't you get it checked out sooner? Didn't your little blond friend care about you, or what? You're gonna get sick if you leave it like that, you've barely attended to it at all. Don't ignore your health, damn it." This last part, however, he said more gently, looking down at the boy with a soft smile, nostalgia in his expression. Roxas stared back mutely, not willing to take his gaze away, not yet sure what the man intended to do, only that he was looking ready to do _something. _

Fears coming to life as the redhead sat on the edge of the bed, Roxas warned quickly, "Don't touch me. I don't need you to do anything for me. My face is fine." Axel threw him a sidelong glance, before uncapping the bourbon and throwing back a long swallow straight from the bottle.

"Your face is more than fine. But…" He reached out slowly, Roxas flinching away from his touch. "…I hurt you." His hand hung in the air where the boy's cheek had just been, before slowly returning to his side. Eyes hardening, he said, "You haven't got your pepper spray this time." He tipped the bottle up against his lips, taking a large gulp but holding it in his mouth without swallowing. His gaze burnt into Roxas, unwavering, the blond beginning to sweat and shift under the fire of it, Axel placing the bottle onto the nightstand and moving closer, his weight pushing down the mattress. As he leaned down towards the boy, Roxas started, _"Don't -!" _

The man grabbed hold of his head, handcuffs rattling as Roxas resisted, nowhere to escape to as Axel lowered himself, fingers digging harshly into skin, and pressed their mouths tightly together. Roxas' jolted, slammed his wrists and ankles at their bonds, eyes clenching shut but then popping open again, desperately, as Axel pinched off his nose. The boy fought wildly, hands and feet suffering the cut of metal, face turning red with the effort, the sudden oxygen deprivation. The redhead had Roxas' mouth sealed completely with his own, waiting patiently until the blond could stand it no longer and wrenched his lips open. Axel released his nose almost instantly, but still the boy coughed and spluttered as the alcohol burned down his throat, as much trying to enter his lungs as his stomach. Blue eyes watered frantically as he choked, a pressure on the back of his head surprising him, gaze jumping sideways to where the man was helping to elevate him with a hand.

With a wheezing gasp, Roxas slammed away, the bed shaking, exclaiming, _"Don't touch me!" _

"Come on, Roxas." Axel's voice was firm, expression determined. He had the bottle again, balanced on his knee. "This is how we always do it."

He took another large mouthful, Roxas snarling, _"I never –!" _then being cut off as once again their lips met, this time the struggle far less organised, Axel holding him down and transferring the alcohol into him. The blond gulped, gasped, coughed raggedly and felt a hand brushing through his hair, smoothing the spikes away from his forehead. He gagged at the unpleasant drink, bourbon never a favourite, always the type to intoxicate him fast and leave him sick at the end of the night.

As if reading his thoughts, the hand still moving across his head, Axel murmured, reeking breath fanning his face, "I know you don't like this, I know it's not fun, but it's the fastest way to get you drunk, Rox. I can't do this unless you're drunk, I don't want to hurt you."

Terror split through the blond, mind screaming, _What will hurt? _His heart had never hammered harder, adrenaline erupting through his helpless body, and the fear, oh _God, _the fear of what was coming…

Again, the man's mouth came down insistently to his own, Roxas whipping his head first to one side, then the other, then finding it utterly mobilised once more by those strong hands. There was a moment of resistance, then the vile fluid filled him from above, accompanied, this time, by a questing tongue. He gagged again, the tongue retreating, Axel's face hovering over his own with a flat expression. His throat burned, chest tight, nausea raging. After that third dose, the man left him alone, withdrew from his line of sight, leaving the blond to pant and recover, and slowly slip below the surface of inebriation.

Axel didn't like to do it to him, but he wasn't going to put a strong enough painkiller into Roxas right after the chloroform. Better to take advantage of the chloroform's lingering properties, knock the kid out faster that way. He'd be sick later, but at least he wouldn't care about the feel of the needle passing in and out of his cheek.

Sure enough, within ten minutes, Roxas was drifting away from the world. Already weakened by last night, his eyes became glassy, the strength leaving his body, expression going slack as he stared over at the window. Axel left him for a while, waiting for the numbness to really take effect, smoking another cigarette before washing his hands, getting out the first-aid kit from his bag, unpacking the organic thread and slender needle for the sewing of parted flesh. He pulled on a pair of disposable rubber gloves, sat back on the edge of the bed, and spent a moment studying the dazed figure upon it. Roxas was still conscious, for sure, but disconnected from the world. Bourbon always packed a punch for him, no matter the circumstances. To have him like this, though, lying vulnerable and accepting of his environment for the first time since he'd woken… it was a test for Axel to leave him be, to not just – take advantage of the situation, and damn the consequences.

But, no – no, he'd made the decision to remain in control, of himself and the situation. If he lost it now, went ahead and fucked the kid when he was loaded against his will like this, whoever Roxas _was _now would never trust him. He'd already messed up so many times, and he was tired of it. He didn't know how long it would last, but for now, he was keeping his libido firmly in check.

With a deep breath, he twisted around on the comforter, using a disinfectant dilution and sterilised swabs to clean the wound, breaking the scabbing away and leaving the site raw and inflamed, though more hygienic than it had obviously been in a few days. Then, threading the needle, he deftly, professionally began a series of sutures, piercing and drawing the wide gorge on Roxas' face gradually shut. It looked ugly, even closed up like it was, even with Axel's careful work; it had been a bad cut, oddly shaped, and to have been left for so long the edges had begun healing in their split position. Axel could have strangled the little bastard that Roxas had been staying with, letting him end up like this. Didn't he know how to _deal _with Roxas? If not, then he shouldn't have bothered trying to be near him in the first place. There was… an art to Roxas. An art to knowing him, to weathering his moods, to understanding his thoughts and motivations. To Axel's mind, there was no one else in the world capable of taking care of him but he himself; and before long, hopefully Roxas would recognise this, as well. It was inside him, that knowledge, somewhere… It was just up to Axel to root it out, and bring it back to the fore.

As the blue eyes rolled around to gaze at him emptily, he met them, head cocking to one side, trying to find that hint of recognition but seeing nothing. Despite this, he didn't lose heart; Axel was a patient man when he needed to be. Roxas would know him again, eventually.

Roxas spent the afternoon heaving over the toilet. Axel stood in the doorway, watching him, having unlocked the handcuffs to allow him this one luxury, but unwilling to take his eyes off the blond, even for a second.

Roxas wouldn't let the man near him, kicking him away whenever he tried to approach; had he had the energy, and had he not been almost constantly needing to vomit the meagre contents of his stomach, he'd have attempted more, put up a fight of some sort, but the way things were right now, the only fighting going on was with himself. He hugged the cold ceramic base, inhaling dusty bathroom air, sweaty forehead perched on the seat, trying not to think about who else might have been sitting there in the last twelve or so hours. At least it smelled like cleaner; that was one small mercy.

When he wasn't hurling, he was feeling violently hung-over, and all it did was serve to remind him of Hayner. God, where was he when you needed him? Roxas didn't even know how far away Twilight Town was, let alone his chances of being miraculously found by his friends. He missed them. He ached for them. Olette had been crying the last time he'd seen her, and Hayner had been so mad… and Pence, when was the last time he'd taken an hour to properly talk to Pence? And oh, man, _Aerith. _Did she even know yet that she was down a labour monkey?

His heart constricted, formed a tight fist of breathless pain, so that, out of sight of the ever-present, hated redhead, tears began to sting his eyes and leak down into the bowl water. He had to fight, with everything he had, to not let his breaths shudder, or his shoulders rock. He couldn't stand the thought of that man touching him; it had been bad enough that he'd got him drunk and then _sewn him up. _Roxas' first instinct, upon realising what he'd done, had been to tear the stitches all out again, and never mind the fucking pain… but in the end, it seemed like keeping a horrible scar on his face would be too much of a permanent reminder of the day that he'd got it. Better to get rid of it, even if it was through _his _administrations, than to have it staring baldly out of the mirror every day for the rest of his life. But the violation of it made his skin scream and crawl, the knowledge that those hands had been all over him like that, and, worst of all, the understanding that while he'd been out of it, Axel could have done _anything _to him. Anything at all.

But the thing he wasn't sure about yet, what made him uneasy, was whether or not he was pleased that he'd come back to his senses without having been… interfered with. On the one hand, he hadn't been… _interfered _with; but on the other – Roxas didn't… want to trust this man. He didn't want to relax around him, or think for a moment that he was safe. There was no goddamn way he was falling into Stockholm Syndrome. Axel was, and would remain, the enemy; the destroyer of his peaceful life.

At length, after Roxas' body had finally fallen quiet, his gulps and retching fading into a weary echo of hot breaths inside the toilet, Axel shifted restlessly against the door frame, said, "Hey. So. It's evening, and I'm hungry. You wanna go get something to eat? There's a diner near here."

Incredulity slowly filled the boy. He turned his head away from the toilet to stare at the redhead, whose eyebrows hitched up a little at the look on his face. Voice hoarse from stomach acid, thick from illness, the boy demanded critically, "Do I _look _like I want to go get something to eat?"

Axel eyed him, shrugging. "It's not like you've got anything better to do. And you never know, something solid might make you feel better, Rox."

The blond shut his eyes, exhaustedly returned his forehead to his forearm on the seat. "Don't call me that. I'm not your friend."

There was a pause, Axel exhaling audibly, mouth twisting down. "…Whatever. Anyway. We're going, so you might as well get your head out of there and brush your teeth." He turned to leave the bathroom, saying over his shoulder, "You've got a toothbrush on the sink. I bought it for you."

"In between the sex shop and the liquor store, right?" Axel didn't hear him, muttered as it was, left him there to pull himself together. Roxas felt his absence like a fresh breeze, even if he was only just over in the next partition of the room. He pulled himself heavily away from the toilet, head feeling leaden, neck weak, and cautiously looked around the tile room. There was a window of mottled glass over by the shower, set high in the wall, a narrow, horizontal rectangle of dying dusk. Well, that put escape out of the picture – Roxas would have been lucky to manage to fit an entire arm through it, let alone squeeze his whole body out. No doubt that was why the man had left him like this; no fear of him getting away. However… just because he couldn't _get _out, didn't mean that Roxas couldn't _yell _out, couldn't haul himself up and hail a passerby, get them to call someone – the police, Hayner, _anyone. _

But then, Axel was back. He hadn't even been gone thirty seconds, and he met the poisonous look that the blond shot over with a nod. "You're slow," he observed. "I'd have thought you couldn't wait to get over and scream for help." He had a white shirt on, buttoned over his black tank, another cigarette in his mouth, hands coming up to automatically shield the flame as he lit it up. Releasing the first curl of smoke, he sent the boy a cocky wink. "Or is it that you subconsciously don't want to be saved?"

The breath exploded out of Roxas in disdain, glare powerful as he pushed himself up onto shaking legs. "You're a fucking poisoner," he stated in low, hard tones. "That's the only reason I haven't done anything before now."

With disinterest, Axel inspected the filter of his cigarette, replied, "Huh, really? I'll make sure to keep doing it, then." He smiled thinly as he returned it to his lips. Trembling, partially from anger, partially from frailty, the boy went to where the sink sat bolted to the wall and found the promised unopened toothbrush, green eyes following him all the while. It was bright red, like Axel's hair; he didn't want to use it. He turned it over in his fingers for a moment, gaze sliding over to where the man stared hard, before deliberately putting it to one side, plastic and cardboard wrapper intact. Instead, he ran the water, caught it in one cupped palm, and sucked it up. Finding a small tube of toothpaste, he squirted out a worm of the stuff onto the end of one finger and jammed it in with the water, swishing the mixture around for a few moments before spitting the whole coloured stream down the drain.

Water shining on his chin, Roxas glanced into the mirror, pausing at the sight of his appearance. He looked dishevelled – pale skin, dark eyes, mussed hair – but he'd grown accustomed to that sight since he'd stopped sleeping. The only real difference from the last time he'd taken a good look at himself, in his apartment with Hayner, was the fact that… his cheek was looking better. Axel had put a clean, white gauze over the site, taped it into place, making him look less like he'd just come out of a schoolboy scrap and more like he'd actually visited the emergency room like Hayner had told Aerith. Damn it. He hated Axel, hated him. He wished all over again that he could just tear the shit straight back off his face, let the wound gape and be a testament to the fact that the man _did _want to hurt him, was more than _willing _to slice him open. Who was he trying to fool, anyway? Did he really think that Roxas was going to change his opinion of him, even for a second?

The guy was out of his fucking mind.

"Tick-tock, Rox_as." _He was obeying the blond's wish to not be referred to with such familiarity. _Hate, hate, hate. _"I wanna go get a table before the place fills up."

Roxas scowled darkly into the mirror. "You're not worried that I'll get help? One yell from me, and the whole place is going to realise something's not right with us."

Axel smiled easily. "You think I don't know that? This is why I like you, Roxas – you don't underestimate me. You don't just _think _that sort of thing, and plan your little plans, because you know I already know eeeverything that's in your mind." He tapped his forehead smugly.

"You don't know jack-shit," the boy snapped back, holding himself up on the basin.

"I know that you know that I'm not stupid," Axel replied placidly. "Sure, you could yell, and there's nothing I could do to stop you. You could even try to overpower me and go running off into the night. But I'm the one that has your passport, sweetheart. And all your other documentation, and even some letters from your psychotherapist, so…"

Roxas went still, staring at him through the mirror, fingers tightening around the lip of the sink. "…What? My what? _What?" _

"All I need to do is show them all of that, and they'll realise that you're… kinda confused." His smile became sympathetic, almost. "So there's really no point in it. The irony would be too much for you, I think, having the cops on _my _side."

"You're lying," the blond quickly retorted.

Axel gazed at him, saying nothing for a moment, before replying seriously, "No. I'm really not." The smile came back, with a lost quality to it. "I wish I was, but I'm not." They locked eyes for a minute, neither one speaking, a trickle of helpless, confused fear running a cold line down Roxas' insides. Then, finally, Axel quietly said, "Come on. I'm hungry, didn't you hear me? I haven't eaten since yesterday morning. I've been too busy trying to get you back."

"You shouldn't have bothered," the boy whispered back harshly, staring at him in the reflection. Axel lifted a shoulder.

"When it's you," he replied, "how could I not?"

_Hate. _

Roxas followed him out of the room.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **Okay, I haven't yet finished the reviews from last time (or the Angel's Fallacy ones, GOD, I swear, they're still in my brain to be done!) but I _really _wanted to get this done. It's been on my miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiind O_______o So, after this, there'll be a little break because I'll be writing a couple of chapters for Sink It In, and then working a little bit on another project, but then HTPD will be back in business. It'll be like the old rotation schedule, only without the melty goo for brain between my ears 8D In other words, don't be expecting any more massive gaps between updates, because this be AkuRoku weather right now – ie, far too fucking hot, but the same as it was when I did TU. It has mental attachments to the temperature, and they manifest in rabid fangirling 0____________0

PS: Just finished editing, and I'll say this: it feels like a very fucking clumsy chapter. Ugh. Awkwardly written, probably a good thing that I'll be getting a break from it DX Nnbkdskbjn. I hate this chapter. *scowl*

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

If Roxas had had more strength, energy, or even any clue where he was, he'd have probably tried to run for it.

Axel preceded him out the door into the breeze-blown night, white shirt lifting at the hem as he stepped onto the long cement patio stretching along the front of the motel sprawl and turned to usher the blond after him. Shifting into darkness, momentarily blind, with the red-haired man's smoky scent filling his senses, Roxas felt like he was baring his neck for the downward swing; every nerve was on a knife's edge, screaming at him to get the hell away. But then Axel's hand clamped on his elbow, and Roxas had nowhere to go.

His teeth came together, fear and revulsion making him jerk back on the man's grip, but Axel wasn't letting him go that easy – not out here. Rather, he took the boy's elbow with his other hand, and slid an arm around his shoulders, like a prison of limbs. Roxas, malnourished, dehydrated, exhausted, nauseous and light-headed, furious and terrified, could only allow himself to be steered along the dark lane, Axel's fingers like iron around him. Inside of him, a seed of outrage demanded _why _he was doing this, putting up with it, all reasons and excuses aside. It wanted _action, _wanted him to prove himself as something more than a pushover… but Axel was so grimly forceful. He never wavered in his step, not once, and at no point did his hold weaken or shift; there was no crack in his demeanour for Roxas to exploit, and this confidence of his was as much the blond's defeat as anything else. Axel _expected_ him to try something, and was acting accordingly, eliminating the resistance before it even occurred, and Roxas was just… a guy. A kid. He didn't know what... to do.

As if alerted by their presence on the walkway, the motel's outdoor lights came flickering on when they were halfway along, bursts of amber glowing through the deepening night, the sun's burn a mere streak across the very base of the black horizon. Even then, Axel didn't falter. Roxas hesitated, head rising, eyes darting to the new illumination, but it was like the redhead was immune, instantly adaptable. He continued on as if his eyes could snap into instant focus from darkness to light, as if there hadn't been a single change in their environment, and swept the boy along with him mercilessly. If Roxas stumbled, the hands around him tightened, and he could imagine the man dragging him if need be. He wondered what really would happen if he opened his mouth and simply let out a scream for help; what Axel's reaction would be, and if he had been anywhere close to serious about the stuff he supposedly had to gain public support if Roxas did try to cry for assistance. Whatever it was, it had to be fake, completely falsified yet genuine-seeming enough to fool the casual inspection… which just held an even deeper level of ominousness than he'd initially suspected, he slowly realised.

If Axel had got these things prepared, procured them from… God only knew where… then that meant that the thought that had gone into all of this had been _detailed. _Not simply a case of come, see, conquer, but a focused goal to apprehend Roxas, Roxas _in particular. _And now that he thought about it… Axel had come to Aerith's store looking for him when he'd taken the day off. They'd never met in a face-to-face situation, but the man had _named _him to Hayner, asked after him, and that meant that – Axel had made his decision already, by that point…?

How… How did this all fit together? Where did it _begin? _

At this point in the blond's train of thought, Axel navigated him around the corner of the long, flat building that made up the motel's many rooms, the pair of them emerging from the cramped parking lot that formed a square in the centre of the establishment, and Roxas abruptly felt his churning deliberations sputter away. A gust of dry, dust-scented air brushed his hair, filled his lungs, brought dread on tiny, fluttering wings.

"_Where am I?"_ he whispered, the words tumbling from his lips before he was even aware they'd entered his mind. He wanted to slow down, wanted to stop and really… take the situation in, but Axel wouldn't let him, tugged him along even as he dug his heels in, bare feet tripping over the hard, warm bitumen. The man had yet to utter a word since they'd exited the motel's bathroom. Roxas didn't know when he next planned on making conversation, but God fucking _damn _it, he needed it to be _now. _"Where _am _I?" he repeated, louder this time, starting to lift his legs, creating some weight for the redhead to deal with, blue eyes taking in the broad, rocky vista of what looked like a desert spreading out beyond them.

The motel was right on the edge of town, the diner Axel had in mind across the road, its sign garishly neon, an eyesore in the night. To the left of it began a bank of stores jammed wall to wall, some of them illuminated, others dark, but to the right stretched a _plain_, pale under the rising moon. It was different from the flatlands along the highway between Twilight Town and Traverse, there was more of a permanence about it, not so much like it was empty space between point A and point B but that it was the main event and the _town _was the interloper, the _town _was the place between points A and B, with the desert itself as the permanent attraction.

He started to struggle, high fear lending him strength, but before he could get anywhere, Axel sucked in through his nose, swung the boy around, planting him squarely on his feet in front of him, and said sternly, cigarette bobbing between his lips, _"Stop. _If you start drawing attention to us already, we'll have to turn back, Roxas, and I told you how hungry I am, right?"

"I don't care!" the boy bawled angrily into his tattooed face, yanking back with his elbows, a foot coming up and shoving against his knee. "I want to know where the _fuck _I am!"

Abruptly, the grips on his arms changed to become painful, aggressive, the redhead bending down to Roxas' height and murmuring, "If I have to take you back to that room and lock you back onto that bed without a goddamn meal in me, Roxas, you are going to be incredibly fucking sorry. Okay?" His hands were vices, squeezing harder all the time, patience thinner than brittle ice. "I won't eat, you won't eat, and you sure as hell won't find out where you are. You let me get something in my stomach, and who knows what I might let slip? _It's in your best interests to keep me happy, kid."_

Breathing hard, Roxas ground his heel into the man's thigh, hissed up at him, "It's in my best _interests _to get away from you!"

Axel's expression in the gloom was mockingly hard, eyes glittering. "Well, we know how likely that is right now, don't we?" His grip pulsed once more around Roxas' upper arms, crushing until the boy's foot slipped back down, a gasp slipping out at the pressure. Gradually, Axel's strength returned to its original intensity. He straightened slowly, keeping his gaze on the blond, watchful for any further rebelliousness. Roxas closed his eyes, face twisting to the side, jaw aching with how tightly his teeth were clamped together, and after a pause the prison reformed around him, a shade more determined than it had been.

Calmly, Axel suggested, "Let's continue, shall we?" He resumed their walk. Stumbling along with him, the blond's eyes flashed back open, surveying the scenery again, so alien compared to that of Twilight Town. Hopelessness swelled. More than ever, _more than anything, _he so badly wanted to be home in his apartment. He wanted to go _home. _But try as he might, as they crossed the brightly-lit road, a toe stubbing against the bitumen, Roxas couldn't recognise his surroundings. He swivelled his gaze to the extremities of his eye sockets, trying not to alert the redhead to the fact that he was frantically trying to memorise the lay of the land and find some faint familiarity in it all. But even if Axel had let him set off to explore the street unattended, the blond got the sinking feeling that he'd be no more the wiser for it. If he could just know where this place _was_ in relation to Twilight Town, that would be – it would be good. Having no clue like this was like having a bag over his head, the _helplessness _it inspired in him was smothering.

Axel, content enough to keep it like this, allowed him no leeway, tugging the blond up onto the opposite sidewalk, spitting his cigarette butt onto the pavement and stepping on it as he passed. As they approached the bright door to the diner, his grasp around Roxas' shoulders gave a warning squeeze, a tight smile flashing briefly down at him with narrowed eyes before they pushed their way through into the subtly air-conditioned environment.

Country-fucking-western music was playing. It seemed to be the theme of the place, along with a lot of fake pot-plants, as if at any moment a herd of bison were going to go thundering down along the main street of this one-horse backwater burg. "Now, Roxas," Axel said quietly, between the teeth of his smile, _"be nice." _

The boy shot him a glare as a waitress approached them, the redhead accepting her greeting cordially. Shoulders hunching as they were guided to an empty table, Roxas' gaze darted around the broad layout of the almost-restaurant, taking instant note of all the doors: bathrooms, kitchen, employees-only, side-exit into the trucker's parking lot…

It looked like it was a regular stopover for the truckers, several of them gathered along the bar, others seated and either partway through meals or inspecting the menu, the evening having only just begun. There was a lull to the place that suggested business was still grinding into gear. Roxas did a swift head-count. Nine; there were nine men ranging between fat and thin, some of them conversing, others keeping to themselves. Perhaps four of them took notice of the entry of the young, attractive male couple – three of them staring at the possessive way the redhead hung onto the blond, and one's eyes flicking down to Roxas' grazed knees and bare feet – but other than that perfunctory glance, the two newcomers were largely ignored.

Axel and Roxas were seated, at the redhead's request, towards the back of the room – out of view of the windows and bulk of the diner, near a fire exit. Back here, there was no one with whom Roxas could make meaningful eye contact or other nonverbal communication, and no one to overhear them. The waitress passed them each a menu, Roxas staring at her hard, then disappeared with a smile, leaving Axel to study the blond with a faint upturning of lips. "I saw what you did there, you know. She's just going to think you're hitting on her."

"Do I give a shit?" Roxas muttered angrily, eyes flicking about, all the while thinking, _I can't do this, I can _not _sit here within reach of help and say _nothing.

With an uncanny understanding of his mind, or maybe just reading the signals as they radiated indiscriminately from the blond's body language, Axel laid his menu out flat, propped an elbow on the table, held up his head on a thumb and forefinger, and wearily smirked. "Roxas. Roxas, look at me, come on." The boy refused, a slight stretch of time enveloping them, and in the next second, Axel's other hand was a claw under the table, grabbing hold of Roxas' exposed knee and _squeezing. _A startled noise escaped his throat before he choked it down, blue eyes wide as they shot over to meet intent green. In a savage, half-demented whisper, Axel repeated, "I said, _look at me." _After a moment, he suddenly cooled back down, glancing around swiftly as he remembered where they were, then relaxed, fingers loosening but remaining in place. Roxas continued to stare, heart in his throat and thundering. This man had the shortest fuse he'd ever come across – and that counted Hayner in one of his moods.

Slowly, Axel began to apologetically stroke his knee. "Look, forget it. What I'm trying to say is, there's no point, okay? You're not getting away from me."

Roxas' muscles grew tenser and tenser the longer that the man touched him, jaw virtually wired shut, so that he had to forcibly creak it open, gather his thoughts and breath to say, "You think you've got the upper hand here, but there's a whole heap of truckers just around the corner who'd be more than happy to get me out of here, _before _you can spread your lies about me. You think… that you're tough, don't you? But…" He lifted blazing eyes, piercing the redhead, making the feather touch of fingertips pause. "The guys at that bar could cream you, Axel, long before you could set fire to the place or find a metal rod to attack them with." Was it the first time he'd used the man's name to his face in a civilised setting? The stillness of his expression suggested it was either that, or shock at the impulsive display of defiance. Roxas waited, feeling fiercely triumphant, for his response to this challenge.

What he got, however, was… not what he'd expected.

Rather than fire up, tempting the blond into doing precisely what he'd threatened, rather even than returning the cruel grip to Roxas' knee as intimidation, instead Axel went – dull. His eyes seemed flatter all of a sudden, the colour dimmer than it had been a second ago. His face lost its animation, a coolness sweeping across his features. When the man spoke, his voice was quiet, expressionless: "…You think that's the worst I'd do to keep you?"

Roxas felt a chill. All heat had left the redhead in an instant, like a bucket of snow had been tossed over every one of his assertions and smirks and cockiness. His hand left Roxas' knee with an unintended ticklish brush, causing the boy to shiver. Apprehensively, Roxas drew back a little, viewing the redhead dubiously. "…What's that supposed to mean?"

The waitress chose that moment to return, notepad flipped open and pencil out, ready to take their orders. Subdued, Axel ordered steak for himself and chicken for Roxas, without consulting the blond, saying only once she'd gone again, taking the menus and her brightness with her, "I know the foods you like."

Roxas lowered his face, staring at the tabletop, one hand up on its surface. His gaze slowly shifted focus, until he found himself noticing the raw, shallow cuts around the wrist, caused by how much he'd tugged at the handcuffs. That was what he had facing him when he left this diner: imprisonment, incarceration, yet more fear. He started to shake.

"What you need to ask yourself, in this new incarnation of life you appear to have chosen," Axel struck up softly, before the boy could reach any concrete decisions, "is how much you value the lives of others." His eyes drilled into the blond, still with that unsettlingly flat quality, as if no humour existed within him, no light whatsoever. "Because I would kill them all to get to you." As Roxas felt his world turn to ice, the man went on, "I would, and I could." His hands coming up to rest on the table, fingers lacing together loosely, he met the blond's gaze squarely. "And I would be above the law."

Roxas could hardly breathe. He couldn't meet the man's eyes any longer than a few seconds at a time; somehow, that empty quality was even more frightening than the soul-deep burn they were capable of. How could so many personalities exist within one person like that? How could anyone be this – unpredictable, and still be sane?

Well. The answer to that was clear enough, in Roxas' mind and experience.

He was too intimidated to say anything further on the subject. It sickened him, made the hang-over seem so much worse, because now it wasn't just a queasiness born of poisoning but of venomous regret and some brief, self-directed loathing. It felt so much like cowardice, but that didn't change the fact that he simply couldn't look over to the other end of the small table anymore. He kept his eyes down, fixed over on the gleaming surface of the napkin dispenser against the wall. It took all of his willpower not to tremble. That, and the fact that his hands were clamped together too tightly to allow them to.

Silence closed the air between them until the food came. Roxas looked down at the greasy fare with nausea, but not knowing when his next meal was coming, or from where, was enough motivation to get him picking at it. Across from him, Axel wordlessly consumed his own meal. Cutlery clanked, but no other sounds existed except for those produced by the other patrons, the cheery waitresses, the occasional distant hiss from the direction of the kitchen, and the background music. Roxas was beginning to wish for somewhere where music and other such sounds simply didn't exist; it seemed like since the moment he'd regained consciousness, there'd been nothing but noise, even when there had been silence. Nothing ever just – _stopped. _It was all going, all the time, and he was the only stationery one in amongst it, powerlessly drawn along. He needed – a pocket of existence in which to hide.

Eventually, after what felt like an interminable period, Axel called for the bill. As they stood, his arm reached automatically around Roxas, the blond stiff within his grasp. Anxious blue eyes scanned the room for anyone noticing that something just wasn't _right _between them, but it was too much to hope for; not even the waitress who'd overseen their entire visit recognised the desperation in the boy. She merely – wished them a happy evening, and showed them to the door. Before he knew it – as if the time had passed in the blink of an eye now that it was all left to hindsight, as if not a single second of it had dragged – Roxas was back out on the pavement, and nobody knew that he needed rescuing. There hadn't been a soul in that place that he'd ended up alerting; what was worse was that he hadn't even tried.

It was a bitter blow. He honestly could have wept, if pride hadn't been so fiercely in the way, hissing that there was no way in a thousand years he would _ever _break down in front of _that man. Hate, _he told himself frantically, trying to drown out the despair. _Hate him! _

Axel wrapped his free hand around Roxas' upper arm, and guided the boy firmly back over to the other side of the road, back towards captivity. By the time they reached their room, Roxas was breathing shallowly, dismay filling him to choking point, steps faltering now that they were on the doorstep. Axel unlocked the room, thrust him through without gentleness, a moodiness about him now. The lights flashed on, Roxas turning quickly to face him, wondering if _now _was when he should try a bid for freedom, spurred on by the recognition that if he didn't,he would be spending the entire night with this maniac, handcuffed to his bed, when he obviously harboured a lot more than simple, friendly urges towards the blond.

Once again, though, Axel knew him from the inside out. Before he could do anything, the redhead had slammed the door shut with his heel, grabbed Roxas by the throat, and shoved him clear across the room with the sort of effort normal people used to toss away garbage. His legs hit the bed, a grunt bursting out as he slammed onto the mattress, and with the swift sound of small wheels rolling, Axel yanked open the nightstand drawer, whipped out a pair of the handcuffs, and locked him to the frame at the bed's foot. Blinking at the brightly-lit ceiling, Roxas was left to gasp and flounder, wondering what the hell had just happened. His mind was still back at the door, finding a second's worth of courage with which to fight. Clawing his way up to sitting, he uselessly rattled and yanked at the cuffs, listening to the clang against the cheap metal frame with anguish.

Face whipping around, blue eyes wide, he demanded through his teeth, voice choked, "Let me _go!" _

"Stop that," Axel replied, referring to the way he continued to pull and wrench against the bed, glancing over only briefly before going into the bathroom, the fluorescent light flickering on. Roxas drew a chest-deep breath, and began to bellow at the top of his lungs, an act which brought the redhead streaking back out and planting an open-hand smack across his face for his efforts. Head ringing, the room suddenly dancing, Roxas fell back without another sound. He couldn't feel the left side of his face; it was gone, didn't exist.

His voice had lasted only for a moment, but it was enough to send Axel stalking over towards the door, swiftly turning off all the lights along the way. In the new darkness, he stood still and ready by the door, prepared for if anyone came investigating. He held no weapon, but the way he held _himself _seemed dangerous enough; and as Roxas had now personally encountered, the man had a lot of strength in his limbs alone. Some silent minutes passed, every tick of the mental clock deafening in their heads. Axel warily released his tension, turned slowly to the blond and growled, "Try it again, see where it gets you." Then, moving over to the bed, he gripped handfuls of blond close to the scalp, jerked his dazed victim up from the comforter, and kissed him. Where his hold was hard, his mouth was gentle, and for a long moment Roxas simply struggled to adjust to the sudden contrast. A moment later, he was back down on the bed and Axel was gone.

The bathroom light came back on, clattering sounds coming from within, while Roxas lay on the comforter with round eyes, not knowing whether to pant for air or stop breathing altogether. It took about a minute for the man to return to the main room, carrying with him a small toiletries case which he deposited onto the bed up near the pillows before turning the lights on again, turning and crouching and opening the nightstand drawers one by one. Roxas stared at the case, then at his back, the quiet industry with which he operated, emptying the drawers of their meagre contents, one item being the still mostly-full bottle of bourbon. From under the bed he dragged the black bag Roxas' mind somehow recalled seeing the first time he'd come across Axel in Twilight Town, when its contents had been spread across the bed and made him feel so awkward. Seeing it brought a shudder to his frame, feet drawing up off the ground and tucking close to his body; too many what-if's were attached to the sight of that bag.

Axel unzipped it, spread it open and began stuffing the belongings in, what few things there were, along with the toiletries case, shoulders bobbing as he worked. Roxas watched his own wallet join it all. It was like seeing a part of himself be swallowed whole.

Steeling himself with a breath, face fully throbbing now, along with a slight ache across his scalp from having his hair pulled, Roxas asked, in a low, shaky voice, "What are you doing?"

Without looking up, Axel said shortly, "We're leaving."

The blond blinked, glanced around the room, over at his handcuffed wrist. "…What?"

"We don't need to stay any longer," the man explained flatly, the mattress bouncing slightly as he shoved everything to make it fit before zipping the bag back up. "Now that you're conscious and fed, we can go. It's safer to travel at night, to keep moving." When no response was forthcoming to this statement, Axel finally darted him a look, adding, "This is how it's going to be for a while from now on."

Roxas could barely remain sitting for the wave of overwhelming relief that came crashing over him. They wouldn't be spending the night together; they wouldn't be sharing a bed. Axel noticed it, and his expression grew a little blacker, but he spoke nothing further, instead standing and taking the bag over to the door. He opened it, leaned out into the night with one hand clutching the frame, and looked up and down the long patio before returning inside and shutting it again. "Basically clear," he reported tiredly, slinging the bag up over one shoulder. Then, approaching Roxas on the bed, he took out a small set of keys from one pocket, their sound high as they clinked together. The boy tensed, Axel bending over him, his shirt touching the end of Roxas' nose as he fiddled briefly with the shackle that connected him to the frame. There was a brief moment of freedom, his wrist moving away from the bed – but then, with a clear _click, _Roxas realised that the man's aim was not, in fact, to release him from the metal bracelet just yet.

Axel had cuffed them together – his wrist to Roxas'.

When the blond looked up in amazed, crestfallen bewilderment, Axel curled their fingers together, and returned his gaze seriously. Roxas tried to wriggle his hand away, but the man's grip tightened, immobilising it. Tone soft, Axel said, "So. This is how it's going to work: nice, calm, and happy, we're going to pretend we're a cute couple and walk to my rental. If we see anyone, we ignore them, not even –" his grip tightened in warning "– a glance in their direction." His other hand came up, began smoothing through the boy's slightly greasy hair, Roxas wincing at the intimacy of the contact. Sliding the hand under his chin, Axel angled his face up towards him, locking their eyes together. His thumb brushed gently against the red mark swelling along the blond's cheek. "I've seen those kicked-dog expressions you've been shooting all over the place. The fact of the matter is, though," he went so quiet that Roxas had to strain to hear him, "that I'm not going to let you leave me again. Not again, Roxas." He bent lower, pressing his nose against the boy's hair, eyes shutting for a long moment. Letting out a gradual sigh, Axel murmured, "It was bad enough the first time."

Roxas was trembling, the nails of his free hand biting into the flesh of his thigh. He stared sightlessly into the folds of the redhead's white shirt, once again inhaling his inescapable scent. In the back of his mind, he wondered dully how much more of this he could handle before he snapped. How long, the thought continued, until _Axel _snapped? How long before the touches and glances and obvious longing became something uncontainable, violent?

He felt like he was counting down the days, if not hours, until that crisis point arrived.

At last, Axel released him, but it was a slow, reluctant action, a disengaging of bodies that the man would have preferred to procrastinate. Roxas lowered his face, incapable of looking at him for fear of what it might invite, and after a moment, Axel tugged at their chained-together wrists. "Come on," he said huskily. "Time to go."

Roxas was pulled to his feet, Axel tucking their bonded hands between their bodies, keeping the boy close as he gave the room its final sweeping glance before switching off the lights once more. Hitching the bag more securely over his shoulder, the slight slosh of liquid from within reminding Roxas of the building headache inside his temples, they exited the room, having barely been back from the diner for more than ten or fifteen minutes.

The gusting breath of the desert-like wind touched against the soreness of his face, making it seem all the more tender. Axel's pace was swift, steady, just like it had been before. Out here in the public eye, he allowed no room for hesitation, no chance for Roxas to do anything but manage to keep up, squeezing his fingers all the while. His steps crunched across the loose rocks littering the asphalt, Roxas' whispering in comparison, occasional flinches twitching the blond whenever he trod on something sharp. Axel's four-door rental was parked at the far end of the lot, away from the administrations office, no doubt where catching glimpses of him entering and exiting the car, complete with apprehended blond, would be less memorable. Roxas felt a stabbing pang of frustration, wondering when exactly the man was going to slip up – so far, his cautiousness was well thought out, obviously not a person for leaving things to chance, despite his series of rash actions back in Twilight Town.

"Okay, welcome to the rental-mobile." Axel unlocked it, scanning the parking lot casually, and, finding nothing to be alarmed about, opened the back door, stuffing the duffel bag down onto the floor. Next was Roxas' door, the man opening it and steering the boy down into the seat. Numbly, Roxas complied, watching as Axel brought out the keys again, unlocked himself from the handcuffs, and swiftly transferred the empty bracelet to the grip at the end of the armrest along the door. To get away now, Roxas would need to bring the entire fucking door along for the ride. Things just went from bad to worse.

"Watch your feet." The redhead shut the door tightly, jogged around to the other side of the car and climbed in, starting the rental up. The air-con came on with the engine, blowing cold air straight into Roxas' eyes, dark eyelashes fluttering as he averted his face, before noticing that Axel was watching with a half-smile on his face. They both glanced away, Axel's demeanour becoming more focused as he checked his mirrors one last time for anyone paying undue attention to them, then shut the cool air off and reversed out of their space. Deftly changing gears, he swung the car around, nosed out of the lot, and turned left onto the main strip road.

The way that they were headed was through the town, lights and passersby making Roxas gaze longingly out like a fish inside an aquarium, shut away behind layers of glass and silence. Evidently, the redhead had stopped at the very first motel he'd come across, literally, no doubt placed there to catch incoming travellers just as the gas station down the other end of town was there to grab them as they left and extort the pants off them with its overpriced fuel. Axel, however, didn't pause, the fuel gauge needle pushing against Full, suggesting he'd already been down this way before Roxas had woken up earlier in the day. They blew past it, the rental sedan picking up speed as the twinkling streetlights petered out, the main road widening, solidifying into a highway affair, double yellow lines leading the way down the dead centre of the tarmac. Into the broad, dark plains they ventured, the moonlight showing up every crag and spindly bit of vegetation for miles around. It wasn't, the blond began noticing, exactly a desert; it didn't have the right sort of feel. But still, he couldn't figure out by their surroundings alone where they'd come to – or where in God's name they'd be headed for next.

He closed his eyes, sinking down into the seat, his free hand coming up to lightly touch the stinging side of his face, feeling coming in more and more to the stunned flesh. Axel caught sight of the motion, glanced sideways at him, compassion on his features. The minutes stretched by, the town vanishing behind them, before he said in a low voice, "I didn't want to hurt you."

"I've heard it before," Roxas muttered back harshly. "'Want' doesn't come into it, though, does it?"

Axel gazed through the windscreen at the road, expression unreadable. Eventually, he replied, "No, it doesn't tend to with me."

Silence fell inside the car, each man tired out in his own individual way, although Axel, for all his exhaustion, had to remain awake and alert for the drive. Roxas yawned over in the other seat, prompting the redhead to sigh, throwing a look sideways. "You should try and sleep." When Roxas said nothing, glaring out the windscreen as if he hadn't spoken, he added tightly, "I won't do anything to you. I know that's what you're worried about."

"…Yeah," the blond responded, soft with a caustic edge. "You always know everything about me, don't you? Always _think _you do."

"That's because I _do," _came the sharp reply. Axel shot him a scowl, hands shifting down the steering wheel. "I know everything there _is _to know about you; more than you know about yourself, that's for sure," he mumbled bitterly. Then, wiping his face roughly with his right hand, pushing it through his hair, Axel advised, "Just go to sleep, Roxas. For both our sakes."

Roxas had no plans to sleep, especially not for the sake of his kidnapper; little had changed in that regard. And yet, it turned out he had no choice in the matter – his body had been pushed too hard in the last week, the last twenty-four hours especially, and no amount of determination could keep him from dropping first into a fitful doze, then falling into deeper slumber. The vibrations of the car soothed his tension, remnant alcohol dragging at his consciousness, and with all his resolve long spent on resisting Axel, he was asleep within the half-hour.

About ninety minutes passed, from that point, before Sora opened his eyes.

Night and the moon had swathed the world in shades of black and silver; as he turned his head, he saw the bleached expanse of dry earth out the window, and thought, _Midgar wastelands. _The landscape's appearance was unmistakeable, along with its endless, rolling length. He was inside a car, the headlights creating a joint spear of illumination reaching out from the hood and dying some feet ahead, turning the wooden posts methodically studding the road's edge, complete with their reflective discs, into a flickering neon corral. Turning his head to the side, he saw in the lights' backwash the figure of Axel, the man's eyes glassily focused forward, a heavy, weary look about him, mouth turned down at the corners in a permanent grimace.

For some long moments, Sora studied him closely, before shifting his hands in his lap and noticing that he'd been handcuffed to the door. He let out a disappointed breath. This nicely prevented any type of escape or attempt at a fight – certainly he wouldn't be performing any heroic stunts any time soon, unless he planned to go down with the ship in a flaming wreck of metal and righteousness. Alerted by the slight clink of metal, Axel glanced over, noticed the gleam of blue eyes and said, "I wasn't expecting you back before morning."

Sora pressed his lips together, frowning a little. "Axel." The man looked at him more closely, an element of cautious surprise in his features, along with some curiosity. "Why are you doing this?" He turned his face back to the windscreen, the frown remaining in place, a crease between his brows. "How long do you expect it all to last, before it collapses?"

The man blinked rapidly, looking briefly stung, and suddenly more drained than ever. Was it Sora's imagination, or did the dark circles under his eyes blacken just a little bit further? The strained expression on his face had definitely increased, the words obviously bouncing back and forth inside his skull, meeting with intelligence and beginning to combat. The breath he exhaled was short, frustrated. "You don't need to worry about that," he said, a bleak note to his voice. "I'm in control here; I'm taking care of it all."

"By driving? Driving to where? _Where _can you take me –" he hesitated, had almost said 'us' – "that will be safe enough?"

"I told you already," Axel barked, patience wearing thin at the probing into unsteady plans, "the police are going to forget about you, Roxas. The Organisation have made greater things happen in less time. So I won't have to worry about _safety _once that happens; they'll cover our tracks for us."

"And who will cover our tracks from them?" the boy returned simply, making Axel take a short, hitching breath, straightening from over the wheel, staring across at him.

"What…? Do you –"

Sora tried to cross his arms tightly, found himself abruptly stopped by the handcuffs, and so instead lowered his chin for a moment, thinking quickly but intensely. In the wing mirror outside his window, he caught a flash of blond hair, ticked his gaze over to look at his reflection, the first time he'd done so in a very, very long time. Previously, mirrors had been the enemy, holding the key, as it were, between delusion and truth. Before, as things had been, Sora had been happy, and Roxas had been happy. Neither had needed to know of the other's existence. But now, Sora could not afford to remain ignorant, and expose himself to the red-haired man, for the consequences of such a revealing would no doubt be dire.

…He would have to speak in keeping with this. "You seem stressed enough," Sora delicately explained, "to be expecting enemies from all sides." When Axel had nothing to say to this, instead going a shade paler and gazing out emptily onto the road ahead, the boy reiterated, "I want to know why you'd do this to yourself."

Axel closed his eyes for a moment, crushed them shut, his entire forehead crinkling with the force of it as he drew a deep, steadying breath. Sora glanced out in front, making sure they wouldn't go swerving off the road, but the man had a firm grip on the wheel, an understanding of the road. They barely shifted between the lines before his eyes snapped back open, pained tenacity in place. Voice tight, choked, he said, shaking slightly, "I know that you don't get it right now, Rox. I don't know, at the moment, if you ever will, all I can do is hope. But the reason I'm 'doing this to myself', as you put it, is because I care about what happens to you. The enemies aren't mine, they're yours; if they found you in this state…"

"The… Organisation?" Sora prompted, seizing on the mentioned word. Axel bit the inside of his lip for a moment, brows coming low, then nodded.

"Yeah. Them. You don't know what you've come out of, Roxas, or what you'd be going back into, but the one thing I know for sure is that if anyone from there thinks that you've flipped and lost your memories like this, due to _whatever _reason, there's a damn fine chance that – well…" Uneasily, he glanced across, before side-stepping and continuing stiffly, "Whatever. It doesn't matter, because I'm going to make sure nothing can happen to you."

Sora watched him from under half-closed lids, turning his explanation musingly in his mind. "…Why couldn't you have just left me in Twilight Town? I was happy, you know."

"And leave one of _them _to find you first?" The redhead almost physically spat, perhaps would have if the window had been open. "You really don't know a single one of them, do you? You've gone – innocent. God only knows you're a damn sight cleaner not having memories of them inside your head, I could almost envy you that, I…" He bent, as if the weight of the world was increasing on his shoulders, and suddenly said haggardly, "Roxas, please. No more questions."

Sora looked at him a while longer, then inclined his head. "Okay," he said quietly. "For now." Several minutes of silence passed. "But I hope," he added, as an afterthought, "that you really, really know what you're doing."

If he didn't, then all three of them – Roxas, Sora, Axel – were going to be in a lot of trouble, very quickly. Axel was again looking at him sideways, a frown in place, as if recognising a different attitude coming out of the blond… but Sora turned away, stared out the window, said nothing more.

"You should sleep," Axel told him, to which the boy shook his head faintly.

"I've slept enough."

There was another pause, before the man observed, "You're not usually this receptive to what I've got to say."

Sora didn't look over. "…In the end, everyone has to face the truth. Sometimes, that truth is the worst thing for them; but hiding from it doesn't make it go away. Even if it breaks you, you have to confront it."

Axel asked soberly, "Is that what happened to you?"

Sora lifted a shoulder, one corner of his mouth curling up out of sight of the man. "Who knows? You'd have to ask who I used to be."

Axel had no response to this, and Sora did as bidden, asking no more questions. With time briefly on his side, and the element of surprise hidden within, the boy began planning his plans, watching the world roll by outside the car, and staving off slumber for as long as he could.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **I am currently experiencing a space/time continuum glitch of epic proportions 0.o I count ten pages of writing in the master document… then I copy and paste chapter 19 into its own document, and suddenly there are nine… I've counted it like five times, and there's nothing missing from this doc, and nothing additional in the master copy that's pushed it down, but – it doesn't quite stretch to ten. The font and paragraphing are identical. And… I don't understand. *whine of confusion* I know I'm not great with numbers, but, but counting to ten, you know, that's my forte. I'm all over that like white on rice.

Lauren. Is. Bewildered. DX

And, because I can, a very, VERY happy birthday to the dear and lovely Atomic-Clover :heart::heart::hearrrt:

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The person Roxas used to be, dressed all in black, heavy cloth yet somehow cold to his deepest veins, sat slumped on his knees in a dark nursery. The room was large, subtly heated, the walls lined with shadowy toy boxes, large stuffed animals, a rocking horse in the corner with a white sheet half-covering it. Broad windows revealed the night sky, black with piercings of light, three-quarters of a moon shining through and gleaming against numerous decals of bumblebees plastering the walls. Between the happy black and yellow fliers, ladybugs and praying mantises completed a garden motif, little pictures of flowers interspersed throughout.

On the far side of the room there stood a pretty bed with rose-coloured sheets, white lace curtains hanging delicately from its four tall posts, lit up like silver webs in the gentle illumination. Within that bed lay a dead young girl, her golden hair spread around her slack face like a soft, blonde cloud on the pillow.

There had been so _many_ pillows on her bed – so many to choose from.

Roxas wished he had been bare of clothing for the act, so that her furious, desperate, short fight could have actually made an impact on him. He would have loved to feel the sting of her nails dragging furrows through his wrists and forearms; would have cherished the pain of having her kicks to his stomach and legs _mean _something, instead of being muffled by all his layers of dark fabric. Anything at all, any punishment she could mete out – oh, God, he'd have taken it all. He would have nursed those injuries afterward, cold air meeting burning cuts and aching bruises, and recognised that she had been alive. He would have carried them with him like lingering traces of her life force, several days more that she could have existed as a ghost within his pain.

But instead, he was whole and untouched, draped over a doll's cot at the far end of the room, head hanging low, and there was nothing left of her in this world but that empty, cooling corpse. The silence was crushing. The darkness throbbed and pressed down on him; smothering, oppressive walls of night that closed in further and further. And yet, despite that, the room seemed to gape around Roxas, too large, too barren and empty. There was… too much space. He felt breathless, more vulnerable than he knew what to do with. Somewhere nearby, the child's nanny lay unconscious in her own bed with a dose of Ketamine injected into the muscle of her left upper arm, and all he could do was wish she was dead, too – he wanted, in that moment, for everyone in the world to be _dead, _to just _stop, _so that it was Roxas and Roxas alone. He needed humanity to be _gone, _damn it, so that he didn't have to hide like this. There was too much space, too many people, and _they all needed to die so that he could finally live._

His knuckles buries themselves into his eyes, face scrunching, tongue dry as he gasped shallowly, teeth gritted together – Roxas was abject misery, sheer despair, cracking apart at the seams. The empty syringe lay on the ground beside him, waiting to be filled, but it was too far to go, _too far. _If he tried to return to that child and take the blood from her heart, he would die of old age before he got halfway. It was impossible, utterly impossible, _he wouldn't do it, _he –

With a heartbeat like thunder, Roxas came awake all at once, a mixture of shrill and guttural cries cracking from his throat, independent of his mind. Sweat ran rivers down his skin, born from nightmares and the oven that was a parked car under the sun. Blue eyes wide, wild and blind, he thrashed in his seat until the clamping grip of another's set of hands brought him gasping to full consciousness.

Thrusting Axel off him, the man's entreaties lost to the air, the blond snatched at his door handle, wrenched it back, and fell out of the car with a bang of hinges, handcuffs slamming to the end of the handgrip. On his knees in the dirt of the long, pale plain he'd fallen asleep to, Roxas panted the fresh air, then threw up whatever remains he could from dinner the night before. His voice coughed and groaned from deep inside his throat, free hand pressed into the cracked earth, the long highway to one side, the stretching desert on the other, and an endless expanse of sky above.

"Whoa! Hey! Roxas!" Axel, having jumped out and rushed around the rental, dropped down beside the blond, pulling him back from the mess he'd made, his nose almost buried in it. As Roxas whimpered, Axel tried to position him so that he wouldn't hurt his strangling wrist, elbow stuck out at an odd angle from the car door. "Jesus!"

Roxas' let out a hoarsely wailed, _"Get off me!" _He struggled within the man's grasp, squirming and shoving, gulping like he couldn't get enough oxygen, frighteningly pale. He choked, close to hysteria, eyes squeezing shut, shoulder twisting painfully as his arm jerked against the handcuffs. "Get off me – get _off!" _

Axel muttered, "Shit," and wrapped his arms more securely around the boy, holding him close, saying, "Roxas, there is no way in hell that I'm letting you go. Okay? I've got you. It's okay, _I've got you." _

"_No," _the boy moaned, head shaking from side to side, still pushing at him, but with increasing futility. "I don't want this, let me _go, _I _hate _you, I hate you so _much, _I –" His words were cut off by another bout of retching, Axel quickly helping him to bend over towards the dirt, desperation in his green eyes. While Roxas heaved, he rubbed his back, suddenly so painfully happy he could hardly inhale.

"It's okay, Roxas. It's okay, it'll pass. This is all just the nightmare, it was another nightmare, you're going to feel better soon." He hunched over the blond's sweat-soaked back, pressing his forehead into the groove between Roxas' shoulder-blades, a half-laughing smile lighting his face brighter than it had been in months. "This is – normal, Rox," he breathed. "It's normal, it happens a lot. This is _you. _It's – it's what you do." Beneath him, Roxas started to cry, and Axel hugged him all the more tightly. "This is _Roxas _behaviour," the man whispered rapturously. "And that means… it's all going to be okay."

One hour had passed, in pure silence. They were back on the highway, Axel looking more alert from the nap he'd pulled over to have at some point during Roxas' unconsciousness, one elbow perched against the window with his fingers absently covering his mouth, while the other hand steered them. Roxas was low in his seat, feet up on the dashboard, Axel making no comment on it unlike Hayner would have. His back and shoulder were aching from the wrenching he'd given them by ignoring the handcuffs, the muscles complaining every time he shifted even the tiniest amount. His mouth tasted acrid, a foul, lingering flavour that made his lips twist. He was hunched against the door, back half-turned to the redhead, pretending, in his own little world, that Axel did not exist, and never had. Now that they were moving again, the air-conditioning was going, eliminating the terrible, smothering sweat that had developed all over his body, but he could still feel the terrible heat of Axel's hands and chest and face against his back; it was a sensation that wouldn't fade, made his stomach coil.

A moodiness had settled over Axel, despite the joy Roxas could remember hearing in his voice as he had crouched heaving on the dirt. An air of contemplation had swallowed him up, eyebrows drawn low as he divided his mind between paying attention to the long road and thinking whatever deep thoughts that were occurring. Roxas, for his part, didn't know what to do anymore. It wasn't like he'd known a single thing to do prior to now, so far he'd been nothing but the hopeless and hapless victim; but he'd reached a point where when he thought about escape, or rescue, his mind hit a numb wall.

This was the first time since Axel had abducted him from Twilight Town that Roxas had been given a substantial chance to think things through; he wasn't drugged or drunk, wasn't underfed or thirsty, wasn't even exhausted, which was a novelty. For once, he had nothing holding him back, except the obvious handicap of the handcuffs… and yet, he was blank. It was – such a large problem to overcome. He had been kidnapped, stolen and taken away from everything he knew. He was watched, constantly, and suspected, also constantly. Axel didn't trust him anymore than Roxas trusted Axel, and for that reason, his opportunities at trying _anything _were slim to none. He knew now what would happen if he yelled for assistance: he would get bitch-slapped into next week. He also knew the lengths Axel had coldly claimed he would go to in order to eliminate anyone that Roxas alerted to his distress, with all consequences accounted for. So when Roxas tried, tried so hard, to come up with something, to track down some fragment of a possibility of helping himself… there was just – there was nothing.

His best chance, he knew, was simply getting free. If he could run, _somehow, _if he could find that one-in-a-million chance and flee without Axel instantly being able to grab him, he might be able to manage something. He could go to the police; or, if he felt that Axel's claim of possessing documentation regarding some phantom mental instability was more than just a bluff, he could get to a phone box and call Hayner.

Oh, _Hayner. _He was an oasis in Roxas' torment. Deep in his heart, Roxas _believed, _without a single doubt in all the world, that if he could only get to Hayner, it would all be okay. Hayner would _fix _this, he would _protect _his best friend, and he would recruit every tough in town to close ranks and do the same. Twilight Town would be a fortress against anyone who tried to make Roxas do anything he didn't want to. If he could only find a way to get back there…

_That _was his goal. Get back to Hayner – that was what he had to focus his every effort on. With an idea like that to spearhead his escape, he might be able to actually get away. He didn't know yet how he was going to do it, or even how long it might take… but it was a plan. It was a _beginning. _It was… the only thing he could hope to achieve.

From there, one knuckle stuck meditatively into his mouth, caught between his teeth, the blond frowned out the window, thinking of ways to make it happen. Axel was, of course, the largest and most violent obstacle to overcome. Other things, like transport and money, those would come in time, would be more answerable closer to the moment of need; but Axel, that was the big one. When Roxas was handcuffed to anything that couldn't be moved, how was he going to get away? The key, he supposed grimly, lay in… Axel _not _handcuffing him.

His gaze slid down to the bright silver of the cuffs, another enemy. Either he had to get the _actual _key, or he made Axel believe that they were unnecessary. The thing was, though… in order to make _that _viable, he could only begin to imagine the sorts of things he would have to endure. How the hell did he make Axel _trust _him? _Without _whoring himself out in the process. It had been a hell of a lot different in his apartment, waiting to mace him, kissing him like that. And, in a bitter fit of irony, he was pretty sure that it was precisely that act that was going to make it pretty damn hard to try it a second time. Even if he _did _whore himself out to Axel, would that be any reason for the man to trust him? Would he suddenly think that Roxas was the Roxas he thought he knew, and stop hovering over him every minute of the day? Somehow, he doubted it.

Jesus Christ – what a mess.

There was a sigh from the other side of the car that echoed Roxas' sentiments. When he glanced over, Axel was rubbing his forehead with an expression of frustration. It seemed like he wasn't the only one with mind-consuming issues. Well, it had to be stressful, keeping someone against their will like this. Poor him.

The rental ate up mile after mile, the pale, rocky plains stretching for what felt like an endless distance, with only one brief stop at a lonely gas station-cum-diner, where Axel hadn't bothered to pause for food or drinks, merely refilling the tank and continuing on. At least Roxas had got a clue as to where he was, at that point – the sign above the store had read, _Wastelands One-Stop. _The only wasteland he'd ever heard about was the one that stretched outside of Midgar. Pence had once said that it took three whole days to get from one end to the other, a prospect that made Roxas' stomach sink. What was worse was that they were heading into some dense cloud overhead, and he was pretty sure he could remember Pence also mentioning the awesome flash-floods that struck the region from time to time. Summer storms in flood regions – God's kick-in-the-teeth answer to the prayers of lost little blonds.

By late afternoon, the sky was the colour of charcoal, threatening to unleash every plague under the sun upon them. Axel had been eyeing it through the windshield for a little over an hour, the hush within the car broken up by the occasional sweeping pitter-patter against the glass or rocking gust of wind, the weather building but still unwilling to shatter its force across the earth. "We'll stop soon," he said at length, reading the tension in Roxas without trying. "I wouldn't try driving through what's coming. It's okay; there's a motel up ahead. I've been this way before." He seemed to accept the blond's lack of response as par for the course, neither demanding nor expecting any type of reaction from him, and life continued as usual.

They drove for forty minutes more, the rain coming down steadily now, and slowly, in the distance, a speck began to grow. In the middle of the vast expanse of land, it looked like a couple of toys some mammoth child had left behind on its daily walk: a long two-story building here, a gas station there, yet another carbon-copy diner stuck onto the side of it, and hey presto, you had yourself a pit-stop that didn't even have its own postal address in the middle of fuck-all nowhere. Roxas was less than impressed, and as the weather-beaten structures grew nearer and more distinct, his opinion didn't waver – the place was like fifty years old. It had been builtold, and would die ancient.

As lightning began to streak the distant horizon, they pulled into the parking lot. With the rain now hammering ceaselessly against the roof and windows, Axel killed the engine, yanking the keys free and unbuckling himself from his seat, throwing Roxas a steady look. For a few moments longer, their tacitly agreed-upon silence extended, before the redhead broke it quietly, with, "If you scream out here, nobody will hear you." Roxas stared, muscles stiffening. Then, Axel nodded out to the elements. "It's too loud, with the rain like this." He started to tuck the keys into his pocket, shifting his pointed knees from under the steering wheel, looking uncomfortable after the long drive. "My point is, don't bother trying, because everyone's hiding from the storm, and all you'll do is make life difficult."

Trying not to let his relief show, Roxas realised that he was only talking about – not making any escape attempts. This wasn't some abrupt decision to cut him up and rape him; Axel was getting ready to go book them a room, which meant leaving him alone in the car for a few minutes.

Just before he opened the door, Axel glanced over his shoulder at the apprehensive blond, and added, "If you're good, I'll get you something from the vending machine, okay? So just – be good."

Roxas bit down the automatic flaring of his temper, the deep-seated _need _to throw the man's 'vending machine' offer straight back in his face – _who the fuck cared about that? – _but with a nudge from his earlier thoughts and ideas, he instead swallowed, gritted his teeth, and… slowly nodded. It kind of – hurt. Somewhere inside, it hurt to do this… but he was supposed to be earning some trust right now, right? Just for now? So – sacrifices were in order. If that sacrifice ended up being his pride, well…

He couldn't bring himself to give any verbal affirmation, but Axel was satisfied enough with the nod. Giving a nod back, he opened his door and exited out into the rain, closing it again with a bang, vanishing behind the water-streaked, condensation-fogged windows. Roxas watched his rippling, red-topped blur hurry away, bent under the force of the weather, before disappearing into one of the doorways of the squat, stretching motel. Letting out a sharp breath, he instantly began a thorough search of the car as far as he could reach, maintaining a careful watch for Axel's return. In the glove compartment, he found a book of maps, a leaflet for the rental company, the car's details, and a Triple A magazine. Under the seats he found bits of lint and a fire blanket. In the pockets on the backs of the seat, he came across some more Triple A advertisements, and that, unfortunately, was the extent of the search. The black duffel bag was still on the floor of the backseat, but Roxas couldn't reach it – the goddamn cuffs kept pulling him short every time he reached over. His brief fantasy of grabbing the bourbon bottle and breaking it over Axel's head was dead.

He settled back down with a spiked obstruction of frustration lodged in his chest, wishing there was more he could do, wishing that his only recourse didn't simply involve sitting on his hands and pretending he'd mended his fucking _ways._

The sound of the rain on the car was thunderous, all the more so for having the engine switched off like this. It was so dark outside now, even though sunset was still a few hours off. Roxas gazed through the misted window to his right and wondered what the weather was like in Twilight Town. It was like every train of thought eventually followed a yellow brick road back to home… and his chest ached with the absence of it. Breaths sounding hollow in the tinny, close space, Roxas hung his head, touching it against the warm window. Even with the weather like this, the temperature had barely dropped at all. God damn it. He just wanted this to all be over already. Why couldn't it end up being another one of his nightmares? Why couldn't he wake up on Hayner's sofa all over again, and watch his ass for stalking redheads this time? A – a second chance, that's what he needed. The ability to turn back time. To… not be so stupid as to wander away from Hayner.

So _stupid. _

He had all but done this to himself.

Roxas' eyes squeezed shut, despair scratching thin claws along his insides, only to be startled upright a moment later by Axel's abrupt return, a gust of air, rain and elemental noise sweeping in as he wrenched the driver's door open and hung in with dripping hair. Green eyes widened at the sight of Roxas sitting there with a bleary, grim expression, Axel's brows rising as he exclaimed, louder than necessary with the hammering against the roof deafening him, "Well, colour me damned! I'd half expected you to have gnawed off your arm by now, Rox."

"…Call me crazy," the blond called back after a beat's hesitation, "but I'm kind of attached to it."

Axel blinked, then grinned, then leaned back out into the rain and let loose a long, loud laugh. Roxas nearly jumped at the sound of it, unaccustomed to such gaiety right now, unappreciative of the man's… absurd appreciation. It was barely even a joke, and had gone against his every instinct to just pull up both middle fingers and then ram them into the man's eyes. Those eyes were virtually twinkling when Axel stuck his head back in, water streaking down the slender planes of his vastly amused face. "Okay. Okay, I get it. We're moving into 'co-operative' mode now? Fine, Roxas, whatever. I like it better than you being grumpy, anyway." Another chuckle, and then the door was slammed shut again, Axel moving around the car to Roxas' side while the blond sat there like a lump of stone, staring. What the fuck had that just been? That – statement, that observation? That distinct feeling of being _laughed at? _

As Axel opened his door, Roxas' head swivelled, an icy look levelled at the redhead, and Axel, upon seeing it, suddenly lost some of his glitter. He stopped in his motions of reaching for the handcuffs, the sultry rain pouring down around him but seeming, for the moment, to be forgotten. He hesitated, then bent lower and gazed into Roxas' eyes searchingly, intensity increasing slowly the longer that the blond didn't look away. Eventually, Roxas had to blink, had to draw his brows together and glance to the side, frowning. He couldn't – keep it up. As much as it had pissed him off to have Axel acting the way he had, it was… too unnerving to sit here having a staring contest with the man. As his eyes darted briefly back, he was puzzled to see – was it a flash of disappointment in Axel's face?

After a pause, the man resumed moving, returning his focus to the handcuffs, expressionless now. Roxas was unclipped from the armrest, Axel holding onto the open ring tightly, jerking the blond and muttering, "Time to get out." Talk about a mood swing. Feeling cagey, Roxas did as bidden, easing his way out of the car with Axel clutching the other end of the handcuffs like some kind of short leash. The second he entered the rain, Roxas was blind – it consumed the world, filled his eyes and ears, destroyed all sense of direction except for the vague sense of shapes and colours over to the right. Axel gave him a quick, sharp tug, encouraging him to follow, and without another thought Roxas scurried after him, gasping from the violence of the downpour. It took only about a minute to get from the car to their room, the two of them heading past the stairs to the second level and around to the far side of the building, but by the time Axel unlocked the door with the key he'd got from reception, and pushed the blond through into safety, Roxas was soaked to the bone.

The door slammed shut again behind them, and the world became abruptly quieter, Roxas' panting breaths audible, his hair plastered flat to his skull. Axel's hands closed around his shoulders, steering him over towards a small, round two-person table in the corner of the room. Instead of seating him on one of the chairs, however, Axel pushed him firmly to the floor, arching down and clicking the empty handcuff around the dark, metal pole that led to a base of what looked to be made of solid iron.

Pushing the curtain of congealed blond from out of his eyes, bent at an awkward angle beneath the table's circular surface, Roxas squinted up at him, one eye shutting against a trickle of water. Axel gazed back down, face monotonous, whatever thoughts that flitted through his head remaining obscured to the blond on the ground. "…Well," the man said at last, voice low. "This ought to hold you for a while, at any rate."

Anger flickered to life within Roxas, spasming shortly through his features, before being forced into the shadows. He pulled uselessly on the metal chain to prove the man's point, managing to agree, "No doubt about it." He couldn't keep the glare from his brow, no matter how hard he tried, and after a long moment, a softer expression stole through Axel's flatness. Letting out a sigh, some of the stiffness leaving his shoulders, the man scraped his hair back behind his head, the usual spikes so slicked down that they'd melded together into one long, leaking body of red. He closed his eyes, mumbled, "Shit, I left the bag in the car," and entered into a minute's mental debate, Roxas studying him carefully from under the table.

Eventually, after Axel had wasted a while just standing there with one hand over his eyes, he ventured, "So how long do I have to stay like this? Because my neck is already starting to ache." Axel uncovered his face with a grimace, taking note of the less than stellar position he'd jammed the blond into.

"Yeah. Right."

"And I'm hungry," the blond pressed on. "You promised me vending machine food, didn't you? I don't exactly see a Subway anywhere around this dive." A certain sense of boldness had slowly crept into Roxas' attitude, a gradual accomplishment which was only and directly tied to the fact that Axel obviously wasn't going to kill him, or even necessarily attack him any time soon. He was still Roxas' crazy kidnapper, but crazy in the 'I'm-never-letting-you-leave-so-don't-you-try' sort of way, rather than 'I've-been-studying-Hannibal-Lector's-MO-for-five-years-and-I-think-I'm-ready-now'. And that, while far from any ideal within Roxas' mind, was at least something that gave him a little bit of reassurance – enough so at least that he could confront the guy about things like food and comfort.

He had to pause for a moment and wonder if he'd made the right judgement when Axel's expression hardened again, but with a quick glance around the room and a pursing of lips, the redhead nodded reluctantly. "…I guess you're right, huh? You haven't eaten all day, and it's not like you even got to keep all your dinner inside you."

He had angled his gaze at the floor and started pushing at his hair as he spoke, but at the memory of Roxas' nightmare, a tiny smile tugged at Axel's mouth, and his eyes, returning to the blond, were back to being… well, almost gentle. Those eyes unsettled Roxas. Axel, feeling whatever he was feeling right now… it just wasn't right. His gaze spoke of emotions that the blond didn't even want to think about.

"…Well," the man said softly, "I suppose I'll go and get the bag from the car, and buy some food while I'm at it. I saw some machines in reception." He mentioned nothing about shifting Roxas from under the table, but for now, the food would be enough. He'd been keeping a tight grip on his tongue, not wanting to complain to this guy and either annoy him or end up in his debt, but God almighty he was hungry. All traces of hang-over were gone from the previous day's bourbon attack, and now his body was craving sustenance, a rebuilding of energy and strength.

Despite his statement of action, Axel remained rooted in place, watching Roxas until the blond closed his eyes, and let out a breath. "Axel." He said it with effort – he really didn't like using the man's name, it was… too personal. 'Bastard asshole abductor' really fit so much more conveniently. But if Roxas was going to turn this situation around to his advantage, if he was going to make the man ease up on the tight security, then he was going to have to be a lot more personable in general – even _if_ the man decided to call it 'co-operative mode', as though he had it all figured out. "What's wrong? Do you think I'm going to hitch up my skirts and run for it the second you're gone?"

"What I think," replied the redhead, "is that you're going to yell your head off, and I'm going to be all the way around the other side of the building." The rain came down harder, thunder rumbling across the heavens like a scowl.

Roxas sighed. "Yeah, it's a possibility. But you'd get back before anyone figured out how to get me off this damn table, wouldn't you? And then what? You've already threatened to kill people, haven't you? You think I want that on my conscience?"

Axel's eyes narrowed, Roxas feeling a sudden tingle of nervousness. "…You haven't underestimated me before now, Roxas. Please, don't start to. Really. Please."

"What are you –?"

"'Co-operative' mode, Roxas. Acting like you've given up, like all you want is to get through this peacefully, like you want me to trust you. Acting like I _can _trust you." His gaze hardened. "But I can't. And you know what your big mistake is, in all this?" He shook his head, stepping close and crouching down in front of him, the blond drawing back against the cool metal of the table column. Axel's expression was partly irritated, partly resigned. "I could never trust you, Rox. Not from day one, not back when you knew who you were, and sure as hell not now. You…" He propped an elbow on one knee, the knuckles of his hand supporting his chin. A new look blew across his face, sadder than the last one. "You are part… of Organisation 13. That means that – you're one of the most untrustworthy individuals alive, whether you want to be or not."

With a wary glower, Roxas drew his bare knees up towards his chest. "What _is_ 'Organisation 13'?"

For a stretching minute, Axel just looked at him, blinking slowly, a strange wistfulness in his eyes. "Nothing you need to worry about just yet," he eventually quietly said. "Just stay with me. I'll keep you safe." He eyed Roxas a moment longer, then blew out a hefty breath, shaking his head. "And with that in mind…" He lowered onto one knee, reaching under the table, suddenly sharing Roxas' breathing space with alarming proximity. Green eyes flicked to the boy's face, then focused on his task – unlocking the cuff around the table column. For a surprised few seconds, Roxas wondered if he was going to be taken for the trip to the vending machines – but an instant later, Axel took hold of his free hand, and jerked him even closer. Roxas half-fell into Axel's chest, eyes going round as the man linked their fingers together, dragged his hand forward, and suddenly clipped the cuff onto his wrist. It took the blond a stunned moment to understand what had happened – then it sank in.

Axel had cuffed both fucking hands around the column, his body half-reclining to manage the angle.

Before sense could be made from such an act, Axel drew back a little, Roxas' relief short-lived, spiking into fear as the man started unbuttoning his white shirt. It was wet as hell, like everything else, and had to be literally peeled from his torso, the drenched fabric reluctant to part from his skin. His gaze fixed unwaveringly on Roxas, he finished stripping it from his arms, just the black undershirt left now, arms looking coldly bare with the lighting so dark like this. He hitched a breath, starting back as the redhead leaned in towards him, intent strong on his face. "Hey, now! What exactly are you -!"

He was cut off by a thick wad of the shirt being stuffed in between his teeth. He half-gagged, tongue pushing instinctively against the blockage, Axel moving expertly to wrap the length of shirt once around his head until only the sleeves were hanging out, which he then knotted at the nape of the boy's neck. Roxas, effectively gagged in under a minute, yelled his displeasure in muffled, furious tones.

"Moral of the story, Roxas." Axel met his gaze squarely. "I don't trust you, and I won't. Not in this lifetime, no matter who you think you've become, or how honest that person thinks he is. Although, for the record, I don't think that person would be all that honest, either." Before he pulled back, he left an inexplicably tender kiss on the boy's cheek, near his eye, above where the shirt constricted his flesh. Roxas froze at the touch. "But don't worry," the man murmured into his ear. "I like you anyway." Another kiss, and then he was pulling back, Roxas only now remembering that his legs and feet remained available for kicking. He aimed too late, with a grunt, and barely managed to clip Axel's bent knee, his captor barely even bothering to register the hit.

Straightening again, rising to his feet, Axel looked down at him, and suddenly Roxas was aware of just how damned vulnerable he was. It hadn't had a chance to sink in before now, but all at once he realised that he was down on the floor with his hands chained and no real voice while Axel had full physical capability and all the time in the world. He could do just about anything to Roxas like this, the concept sending chills shooting up his spine. However, the redhead didn't push the advantage any more than he had already with the two small kisses – with a faintly pained expression, he instead turned away from the blond, heading over towards the door.

"I'll be back soon," he promised steadily, reaching for the door handle. "Don't worry, no one else will come in while I'm gone."

Roxas bellowed after him uselessly, but in the next breath, Axel had exited the room, leaving him alone in the dark. _Shit! Shit, shit, shit! _He hadn't intended on causing trouble, he'd been planning to go along with it, because he'd _truly believed there was little point. _He knew now that as long as the cuffs were involved, especially when this table was the anchoring point, he was _screwed. _What would have been the point in screaming his lungs out while Axel was gone, if the man was only going to return before any real progress was made, get mad, and hurt some innocent bystander with the utmost confidence in his ability to get away with it? Roxas had _believed _him, for Christ's sake, he'd believed Axel could and would do it! _That was part of what made the bastard so scary! _

On top of that, _yes, _Roxas was trying to earn some fucking Brownie Points here. Whatever Axel had spouted before, Roxas still thought that as long as he played nice for long enough, the man would come to trust him, at least _enough. _It wasn't like he could just keep Roxas locked up indefinitely, right? But rather than let him prove himself in whatever pitiful way he could manage, Axel had _robbed _him of that, had assumed the worst and nipped it at the bud when there wasn't even a fucking bud to _nip. _

Oh, God, he was pissed. Roxas was _pissed. _

He let out one final, unheard shout before subsiding, anger pulsing, helplessness sitting like a rock on his insides. Sucking air through his nostrils, chewing reflexively on increasingly spit-sodden fabric, tasting smoke, rain and what could only be the flavour inherent to Axel's skin, he pulled himself up closer to the table, crawling onto his knees. It was no better a position than the one before, but at least like this he wasn't just spread out across the floor. That was too much humiliation to take.

So, Axel had cuffed him completely, so that he couldn't remove the gag at all, and was now off getting snacks. Fucking great. God damn it. He should've kept his stupid, fat mouth shut and just starved to death.

With the rain and thunder blasting the sky apart, night growing ever nearer, Roxas lowered his forehead to the cold iron base and closed his eyes, left with nothing to do but await his jailor's return.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngh. *head-desk head-desk head-desk*

CHAPTER TWENTY

The weather was getting worse.

There was one window, on the far side of the room facing the Wastelands, and in between being whipped by solid-sounding needles of rain, the curtains flickered with flashes of lightning that struck out over the desert-like landscape. That was the only illumination in the room, which seemed to grow darker with every minute that Axel was gone. Being alone in here, locked up and mute, when the world was so chaotic around him… it was a new kind of frightening. Roxas didn't want to want the man to return, but he couldn't help it; he didn't like this dark isolation. It... it was putting him on edge. It felt – familiar, but alien, cold, yet with a prickle of heat started to spread up his body at the same time. He didn't know what it was, exactly, that was doing this to him… only that his heart was slowly pounding faster, fear growing gradually steadier. He clung to the table's upright column, pressing the crown of his head against it while his legs went numb beneath him, firmly keeping his breaths in check. With his mouth blocked off like this, it would be too easy to get worked up and start hyperventilating. He had to keep calm.

He was uncomfortably damp, clothes pasted to his body, hair still slicked to the lines of his skull, and the handcuffs seemed tighter than usual. The shirt that was wrapped around his head was digging painfully into the gash on his cheek, a fact he wished Axel had thought about before half-strangling half his face with it. From one minute to the next, he was forced to shift minutely, utterly incapable of finding any position that vaguely resembled comfort. He really – hadn't known that there was a new low to sink to, quite like this. He felt more a prisoner in this moment than he had the entire time in Axel's custody. It was… lonely. And painful. And… he didn't want to feel like this, like he was the only human being on the planet, the only one left alive…

He really didn't… want to.

Axel came back after ten or fifteen minutes, letting in a roar of wind before slamming the door shut, once again absolutely saturated from his trip through the rain. Panting, he dropped the duffel bag down under the light switch, turning on the lights at the same time, blinking in the sudden brightness, eyes going instantly to the huddled mass beneath the small table. "It's me. Sorry I took a while, the guy at reception was chatty." He swiped some of the water off his face, a black plastic bucket filled with ice rattling in his other hand, some vending machine snacks and drinks on top of the frozen cubes. Hitching it up against his chest, delving through the collection, he started, "I got some of those weird things you like, you know the ones…" He trailed off for a moment, eyes briefly losing focus, before sharpening on the small, blond body which had yet to twitch any acknowledgement of his return. He studied it for a moment, then softly ventured, "Roxas…?" The bucket rattled again as he lowered it to his side, head cocking slightly, a frown developing. "Hey, Rox…"

Slowly, the boy lifted his head from the floor, turning towards the redhead, a strained expression pulling his features harshly. His lips were stretched painfully around the wet fabric, water still shining on his skin from the downpour, eyebrows drawn together with slow-burning anger and distress. Axel flinched back a little, grimacing. "Don't look at me like that. It's not like there was anything else I could do, right?" Roxas let out a grunt, Axel sighing. He crossed to the blond, crouching down beside him. "I didn't mean for you to have to be down here. It's just that the bed doesn't have anything to lock you to like the last place did." He reached down and cupped the side of the boy's face, turning it towards him, thumb touching his thinned-out bottom lip. Roxas jerked back ineffectively, unable to break away at this angle, Axel extending his other hand and brushing it over the boy's hair. "…I was talking to the clerk, like I said," he murmured, green eyes roving over Roxas' gagged face, "and it looks like we're going to be here for a while. There've been flood warnings." Roxas closed his eyes, taking a slow breath. Carefully stroking his damp head, the man quietly continued, "So what we need to do now is just get settled in, have something to eat, and rest for the night. Okay? You must be hungry, and uncomfortable. I'll make it all better, Roxas. I'll make everything better, I promise."

Roxas' eyes popped open, another grunt of protest meeting fabric as Axel sat down, leaning onto one elbow, and drew him gently to his chest. As he started to struggle, the redhead soothed, "Ssh, sh, it's okay, I'm not hurting you. I'm just going to take off the gag. Everything's fine." His hands went around to the back of Roxas' neck, fingers working for several minutes at the knots he'd made there. Roxas sweated between his arms, face pressed almost flush against the man's collarbone, Axel's progress calm and unhurried. Despite his demeanour, however, Roxas… could hear his heart beating. From this closeness, it was thumping swiftly, he could almost see the man's chest pulsing with it under his black undershirt. It made him swallow, made him shut his eyes anew, nervously waiting for the ordeal to be over.

At long last, he felt the grip around his head loosen. Axel's hands were behind him for only moments longer, giving a few final tugs, before the tight wrapping was being unwound, releasing his cheeks, relenting against his mouth, the saliva-coated blockage slowly removed from between his teeth. Pain throbbed through his sewn-up gash, a light touch against his jaw signifying that the gauze had flipped down, the glue of the tape that had held it in place almost entirely dissolved. Roxas reflexively moved his mouth, opening and shutting it, squeezing his teeth together then moistening his lips, and all the while Axel's gaze was fixed upon him, arms still wrapped around his shoulders. It took him several seconds to realise, to feel the concentration fixated upon him, blue eyes ticking upward. Axel stared through half-closed lids, before shifting his hand slowly up to Roxas' hair, fingertips pushing through the damp spikes and touching his scalp, the boy shivering at the sudden, intimate touch.

"…You're all wet still," the man commented, a huskiness to his voice that hadn't been there minutes ago. Roxas became acutely aware of the parts of their bodies that were touching, knees and chests and thighs, shoulders, arms. He could feel Axel's breaths against his face, the smell laced with bourbon, as though the redhead had taken a swig from the bottle before locking up the car.

"You… you dragged me through the rain," Roxas muttered, averting his eyes. Then, after a mindless moment, added, "Get off me. I…" He tried to pull away, but was stopped by the handcuffs, his position as vulnerable and helpless as ever. Axel's hand removed itself from his hair, instead brushing down the side of his face.

"Sorry about doing that to your cut." With a tug, he removed the dangling gauze and tape, a finger smoothing apologetically across the site. "I'll put a new one on. It needed changing anyway, we have to take good care of it."

"Axel." Roxas was close to shuddering, from the anxiety, from the cold touch against his skin which was both so gentle and so nerve-wracking. "Stop it. Get off me, I said. I mean it."

Axel released a slow breath, and Roxas' heart nearly stopped as the redhead's forehead pressed down onto his own, a hand cupping the back of his head. Their noses were almost touching, he could practically _taste _the alcohol drifting from Axel's mouth… but then, in the next moment, Axel was gone, pulling away and climbing to his feet, Roxas left dazed and blinking on the thin carpet. Going over to the door, the redhead engaged the bolt and deadlock, picked up the ice bucket and bag and carried them back over, the lights inside the room growing more distinct as the world outside grew darker with encroaching night.

Depositing the bucket on top of the round table, Axel slung the bag onto the bed, two mattresses with little wheels on the bottom, made up to look clean and crisp despite the rather dilapidated conditions of the structure itself. While Roxas watched warily from the ground, Axel briefly explored their small room, turning on the bathroom light, disappearing inside for a minute. The shower came on, the hiss of water almost lost inside the louder thunder of drops from outside, inconsequential in comparison. With steam beginning to drift out through the doorway, Axel returned to the bed and unzipped the bag, shuffling through its contents, pulling out a couple of wads of clothing and laying them out on the bed.

Producing the handcuffs key out of God only knew where – he was careful to never let Roxas see its exact location, precaution being ever the name of the game – he approached the locked-up blond and said, "I'm going to take them off completely now. Enjoy it, because it won't last long, and just remember this: we are in the middle of _nowhere, _Roxas. The second you step out that door –" His arm swung around, finger pointing out towards the weather. "- there's nowhere left for you to go. Nobody will save you out here. Nobody can pick you up on the side of the road, either, because they'll just as soon be swept away by the storm. So you can try anything you like, but –"

"I get it," Roxas interrupted wearily. "Jeeze. I get it. I'm not stupid; I understand that it's impossible." As Axel adopted a faintly impatient look, the boy went on roughly, "And you can take your 'co-operative mode' and fuck it. I _do _have the ability to gauge a situation, and see when I'm boned before I've even begun. There is absolutely. No. Point. In me trying to slip away from you right now, because I. Wouldn't. Make it." His glare was defiant, Axel weighting his sincerity critically. In the end, however, he nodded.

"Okay. If there's one thing I know you could never be, it's stupid, Rox." In there somewhere lay an implicit threat, Roxas' scowl increasing, but finally the two men had appeared to have come to an understanding of sorts. Axel bobbed down onto his haunches at the other side of the table, and Roxas felt brushes of skin, heard the hard click of metal. It was incredible; for the first time since he'd regained consciousness in yesterday's motel room, his right hand was released, aching at the sudden lack of pressure. He had almost forgotten what this felt like, not being permanently chained to something. His left hand joined it in liberty, shoulders able to change position, elbows drawing close to his body as he groped and massaged his poor wrists, the sheer force of his relief almost dizzying.

He pushed himself up to sitting, bumping the top of his head lightly on the table's underside, hands unsteadily gripping its edge as he clambered out from beneath it. Axel straightened in tandem, watching untrustingly. Roxas threw him a glance, back to rubbing his wrists, nails dragging along the insides where the metal had had its unrelenting choke-hold. "Are you okay?" Axel asked, to which the blond nodded, biting back the absurd reflex to thank him. There was definitely gratitude there, though, and lots of it. He couldn't remember being more thankful for anything in his whole life. "Good," the man said. "That's good. You can get into the shower now, then."

Roxas' whole body locked up, wide eyes jerking onto the man's serious face. "…You're kidding me."

Axel cocked his head. "What's to kid about? You're wet, you haven't showered for a couple days; hell, Roxas, you still smell kind of like smoke from the fire. You've been sweating, you've been sick, and you've slept in those clothes a few times by now. You need to get clean. You _want _to, don't you?" The man arched an eyebrow. "I know I want to, I haven't showered in that long, either. I stink."

"Then _you _have a fucking shower," the boy challenged.

"I'm _going_ to," Axel replied, a sharp hint entering his tone, "but I figured you might want to go _first, _since you were so uncomfortable, and because I'm such a _gentleman." _

"Oh, yeah, you're a real fuckin' gentleman," responded Roxas harshly, expression contorting into something like rage, his entire body reacting with a violent burst of adrenaline to the threat that the man was presenting. Removing his clothes in this person's presence was out of the question, everything in him railed against it, this was the same fucking pervert who'd molested him in his apartment, chained him up, _wanted _him. "I've got a lot to thank you for, with your gentlemanly ways."

"If I wasn't such a fucking gentleman," Axel snapped back, "you'd still be chained to that fucking bed at the start of the fucking Wastelands getting _fucked." _He'd closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, one hand wrapped around Roxas' upper arm, half dragging the boy up towards his face to snarl the words down into it. "Don't you act like I'm going to do something to you, Roxas, because I have been _so fucking good _so far. Consider this my best behaviour, okay? And then get in the shower, because I'm _tired, _believe it or not, and maybe you don't care about that, but in order for me to _not _drive us straight off the road tomorrow, I'm going to need to get a good rest in."

"Last night it was food, and this time it's sleep, huh?" Roxas was trembling, wanting so desperately to kick out at the demanding bastard. "Seems like the second you're being deprived of everything you want, you take it out on _me."_

Axel's narrowed eyes were an inch away, his voice a sibilant hiss. _"I'm being deprived of everything I want for every instant that I'm near you, and I haven't been taking it out on you. Don't push me too far, Roxas. I'm not well known for my patience."_

Maintaining a cruel grip on the blond, Axel dragged him over towards the bathroom, forcing him through the doorway before he could shove him off, following him in and slamming the door hard enough to send a _bang _ricocheting all around the tiled space. It was echoed by a peal of thunder up above, the monsoon unrelenting. _"No!" _Roxas thrashed and fought, steam filling the room in seconds now that it had nowhere to flee to.

"Stop it!" Axel yelled in his ear, both hands holding onto him now, trying to control him as he flung his body around. "I'm not going to _hurt _you!"

Every instinct was bellowing warnings, Roxas a fury of elbows and heels and snapping teeth, a hellcat in a cage. Axel's fingers dragged at him, pinching, the man's chest hard against his back, before something suddenly covered the boy's face and head, jerking at his shoulders, and it wasn't until he'd twisted away from it, hissing, that he realised Axel had just removed his t-shirt.

He stopped abruptly, startled by the development, the redhead panting angrily in front of the door, blocking off the only route of escape. Balling the shirt up, Axel tossed it hard at the floor with a wet slap, snarling, "If you don't strip voluntarily, right the hell now, I'll do it for you. You are _getting _into that shower, damn it. I will make you naked if you force me to, or you can do it yourself. That's _it, _those are your choices." There was a terrifying finality to his tone – he meant it. He really, really meant it. And Roxas knew how strong, and how potentially violent, Axel could be.

Axel watched the blood drain out of Roxas' face, watched even his chest look paler, sun-kissed surface that it otherwise was. With it, his anger abated, tiredness and an attempt at understanding taking its place, all with underlying resignation. "I can close my eyes, Roxas." His voice was almost inaudible between the twin cacophonies of the shower and the rain. Axel leaned back against the door, a slump to his shoulders, eyes already averted from the half-naked body that stood so defensively in front of him. "I just want you to be able to get clean. I want you to feel comfortable."

"…Comfortable," Roxas pointed out shakily, "isn't holding me prisoner like this."

"Well, this is as good as it's going to get," the redhead answered, expression pinched, effort in his eyes, as though it was taking all his will to keep from reaching across the tiny bathroom and continuing what he'd started when he'd removed the boy's shirt. "Take what's on offer, or you'll find yourself with nothing, okay? Just –" He shut his eyes tightly. "I'm not looking, so do it."

Roxas stared at him for a long, suspicious moment, hesitating. He knew that Axel would be as good as his word if he didn't co-operate… and co-operating – wasn't he meant to be doing that at the moment? He took a breath, waited longer to test and see whether or not the man kept his eyes shut. After a minute, Axel asked, "Are you in?" He still hadn't looked, so… that was an okay sign, wasn't it?

"…Almost," the blond replied hoarsely, and reluctantly put his fingers to his shorts. They trembled, courage quailing, but the knowledge of what would occur if he didn't get it over with forced him to remove the last of his clothing. He climbed quickly into the shower recess, a flimsy, plastic curtain all that stood between the blond and the man obsessed with him, and threw his shorts and underwear over towards his shirt. The smack of clothing made Axel open his eyes, and for one electrifying moment, they were staring at each other. Roxas had his lower half covered by the curtain, but one bare leg was showing, along with his entire torso, and… in the brief instant in which he wasn't guarding his expressions, Axel looked – hungry.

With a swish of plastic, Roxas vanished into the shower receptacle, the curtain's edges firmly pulled to either end. He noticed with sharp dismay that it had a tendency to drift, the cheap wooden rings gravitating slowly back towards one another along the bar, a couple of inches opening up from either side which refused point-blank to stay put. He retreated to the far corner of the rectangular cubicle, to the location most out of view, fearful and paranoid. Shit. He couldn't remember anyone, anywhere, _ever, _looking at him like Axel just had. Shit.

He was supposed to be washing himself, he supposed, spying the small complimentary soap in the holder on the side of the shower, but… Axel was right over there, barely four feet away, and would be bound to see him shifting behind the not-quite transparent, not-quite opaque curtain, not to mention hear him… The thought of touching himself in any way, shape or form while Axel could pretty much picture it in his mind was freaking him out.

But… he had to admit that the hot water was nice. Now that he was in here, under the flow, although a little bit to one side due to his hiding-in-the-corner technique, he was realising just how much he needed this, for his nerves if nothing else. Being in a shower was – normal. It was part of the cleansing ritual, part of slewing off the dirt of the day and coming out the other side refreshed and human again. Even with Axel so nearby, Roxas couldn't keep the relaxing connotations attached with showering from entering his mind. Okay, so he didn't exactly relax at all _himself_ – he couldn't, his muscles wouldn't stop tensing tighter and tighter – but his mind seemed to calm down a fraction. His emotions, his swirling thoughts, his raging fear and anger and _helplessness… _while none of it came anywhere close to vanishing, he found – a measure of composure in amongst it. Life was chaos, seemingly symbolised by the crashing storm right outside the motel building, but – Roxas was just a guy in a shower. He was just another person who needed to get… clean.

He did end up washing himself, a quick all over scrub to dislodge the layers of sweat and grime, along with a wild attack of fingers through his hair, but after that, he was ready to get out. All benefits aside, he didn't know how long this calming effect would last mentally when he was wound tighter than a spring physically.

"Axel." His voice echoed and bounced, steam entering his lungs as he breathed. "I'm… I'm ready to get out now."

There was a pause, before the man said, his voice low, "So get out, then."

Roxas closed his eyes at the changed quality in his tone. That hunger – it hadn't faded. He could hear it, feel it rolling slowly through the air. "…No. You leave first. You can be right outside the door. There's nowhere for me to go, right? I'll get out, and dry off, and get dressed. That's it. Then I'll come out."

Silence met his proposal, Roxas holding his breath and waiting, nerves on edge. As movement came from beyond the curtain, the blond opened his eyes, drawing back, pulse thumping, wondering what the man was planning on doing… then, Axel said, "I left a towel on the sink. I'll be right outside. Don't shut off the water; I like it that temperature." His footsteps crossed the tiles, there was a breath of coolness as the door opened and closed… and he was gone.

Thank… thank God.

Roxas let out his breath in a whoosh, weak-kneed all of a sudden. As requested, he left the taps alone, the water passing over his back as he pushed aside the curtain and stepped out onto the bathmat. He glanced towards the door, half-expecting Axel to still be standing there, but the redhead had indeed left him alone. The mentioned towel sat looking white and soft and harmless on the hand basin, Roxas tugging it up out of its folded square and thoroughly drying off. He'd had enough of dampness tonight. It was only as he was scrubbing his hair dry, spikes briefly smashed into thousands of wiry threads, that he noticed he didn't actually have anything to change into – not only that, but Axel had taken his wet clothes. He went still with the towel over his head, mind locking up at the realisation. But… the man _did _have clothing for him, right? He wasn't just going to let Roxas go naked… right?

With the towel wrapped firmly around his waist, strands of blond falling across his face, Roxas cautiously went to the door, hesitated, then opened it and placed one blue eye to the steamy gap. Axel was not within instant view, a fact which disconcerted him. He opened the door wider, stepped out into the room, head twisting to the side, seeing the bed, the table, the bag and bucket of ice and snacks… but still no sign of Axel.

Roxas knew he was behind the door before the man actually announced his presence; there was simply nowhere else he could have been. Still, somehow he couldn't help but jump as the door swung shut behind him, Axel stepping up to his back before he could spin, arms wrapping around his middle and going _tight. _

Roxas forgot for a moment how to breathe. He whispered, "Don't."

Axel pressed a kiss against his shoulder, tasting the drips of water from the shower still beaded on his skin. "I won't."

Gulping, shivering, the blond said, "Let me go."

Another kiss, slow and sensual, to the back of his neck. "I'm going to."

As his fingers wandered up Roxas' chest, the boy hunched his shoulders, grinding out, _"When?" _

Axel let out a sigh, touched his tongue to the small, hard mound of bone swelling from the top of the boy's spine, fingertips brushing around one of his nipples, the blond shuddering in his arms, squirming and sinking lower as his legs quivered. His mouth travelling up towards Roxas' ear, Axel murmured, "I don't suppose 'when I feel like it' is an option, is it?" If Roxas hadn't been gripping the towel to his hips hard enough to numb his fingers, he would have started driving his elbows straight back into Axel's stomach and diaphragm. Axel gave the soft shell of flesh a tiny nip with sharp teeth, then withdrew, leaving Roxas to his wild heartbeat and desperate breaths. "Clothes are on the bed. They're mine, so they'll be too big, but they're clean. I won't watch... but I'll have to stay until you're done."

Roxas turned to look over his shoulder, Axel having shifted clear across the room to lean this time against the front door, as though the boy would try to barge past and flee into the night. He wasn't… altogether sure that that wouldn't be such a bad idea. There was still a – a look in his eyes. A dark cloudiness, along with a flush to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the temperature. Roxas nearly lost his breath again just looking at him, and instead twisted quickly away, hurrying over towards the bed. He stopped in front of the mattress, glancing down at the clothing the redhead had lain out, before saying loudly, without looking over, "Turn around and face the door."

With a sharp, mocking tone, Axel replied, "But I thought you were trying to gain some trust, Rox? Gotta give trust to get it, remember that."

Struggling to keep his temper in check, feeling it thrust ferociously through his chest from all the fear fuelling it, he snapped, "Fucking turn _around, _Axel. I'm not dropping this towel until you're facing that stupid door."

"I can't do that," the man said flatly, cutting off all further argument. "What happens if you decide to sneak up on me, Rox? I can't take that risk. If you don't wanna drop the towel, fine, keep it. But that means you'll be sleeping in it tonight, all night, and I won't be giving any second chances."

Roxas crushed his eyes shut, hissed in a breath, then spat out, _"Shit!" _Axel covered his eyes with one hand. "I don't see how this is any different to you facing the door, either way you still can't see me, damn it!"

"You want to give me a reason to look?" came the soft response, his face deadly-serious behind his hand, and for once, Roxas shut the hell up. Axel was right – he needed to take what he could get, before the guy decided to change his mind altogether. He dropped the towel, grabbed up the soft black pants and white t-shirt, and yanked them on over clean skin.

When he looked sideways again, Axel was watching him from between his fingers, green eyes glinting.

Roxas' blood went cold, anger forming a tight ball in his stomach, the word, _"Bastard," _slithering out from between his teeth. Axel smiled blandly, and pushed away from the door, approaching the bed with slow, lazy steps. The blond drew back, imaginary hackles rising, wondering just how much of this his heart could take before it gave over and simply erupted. Axel drew to a halt at the mattress' corner, shoulders loose, eyes hooded and watchful. "…Give me your hand, Roxas," he commanded quietly, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting his lips. The boy's knuckles tightened as his fingers balled in on themselves, staying firmly at his sides. Axel's eyes, which had lightened somewhat with the hovering smirk, dimmed again, a cold wind blowing over his features. "Give me your hand." He stretched out his own, long fingers and a lined palm, silently insisting.

Roxas swallowed. "Why would I want to do that? I'm not a girl, and you're sure as hell not my date tonight, so we'll just keep our hands to ourselves, I think."

"Roxas." All humour, all light, was dead and gone. "Why do you persist in thinking you have any rights in all this, huh?" He was on the blond like lightning, Roxas able only to let out a gasp before Axel slammed him straight onto the bed, chest-first, head twisted to one side on the comforter. The tall man was on top of him a second later, pinning him down, knees on either side of the boy's hips, hands painfully tight around his wrists as he curved them around. Bending low, Axel demanded of his visible blue eye, "What's the point of pretending to co-operate with me when you just then turn around and disobey me? All I _asked _was that you put your hand in _mine, _and you give me some smart-ass reply like that's the cool thing to do." His nails dug into soft skin, frustration crushing Roxas' wrists tighter and tighter. "Sweetheart, it's not cool to piss me off. I've said plenty of times now that I don't want to hurt you, but again and again you're driving me to it. I try to give you this illusion of independence, and you keep forcing me to assert my _dominance_. _Roxas." _He pressed his nose and mouth in between the boy's shoulders, took a long, deep inhalation of the mingled scents of his clothing with Roxas' skin. "Please, oh, please," he whispered, "don't push me too far."

Roxas grunted faintly, a choked sound, burying his nose into the comforter. Axel lifted himself a little, staring down at the slowly reforming spikes on the back of the blond head, drying out, curling slightly. Temptation rose, powerful, gripping, made him peel back his lips and groan as he leaned over the prone figure beneath him. Here the boy was, in his hands, at his mercy, smelling like skin and soap and still slightly damp to the touch, with water hammering down outside, creating an isolated haven within which they had to exist all alone together… Every animal instinct within him snarled to life. Axel's fingers pulsed around Roxas' wrists, longing rising up in a ferocious tide of need and possession. He lowered himself again, bringing the captive wrists together and holding them in one hand, the now free hand moving up to sink through the layers of Roxas' hair, hips pushing down, feeling the body underneath his own, testing it. He was holding on so tightly, it had to hurt, but the kid wasn't saying anything, wasn't objecting, wasn't whimpering, didn't make a sound – but he was breathing hard, just like Axel. Fast, just like Axel.

…Shallow.

Like – fear.

Axel knew fear; knew the sound of it, the sight of it, how to cultivate it, practically knew the taste of it in the air, and Roxas… he was emitting it in waves. As if that wasn't enough, he was also shaking desperately, and it wasn't the kind of 'desperation' Axel could fix with some erotic play. It was… Roxas was scared.

Scratch that; the kid was terrified.

For a brief, reeling moment, Axel nearly snapped, nearly broke apart there and then, felt the urge to sink his teeth into Roxas and _remind him _of who he was, what he _meant, _and everything that Axel had ever made his body feel and tremble at in the past. Roxas _would _remember, he _would _remember, he _would _cast aside this falseness and be _Roxas _again…

…Or maybe it just wouldn't be that easy. Nothing was ever that easy. The only easy thing that had ever happened in Axel's life was losing track of Roxas in the first place.

He whispered, _"Damn it," _and slowly, slowly, forced his grip to relax on the blond. The fingers which had squeezed so hard at his spikes eased off, gave a soft slide of apology, while his vice-like hold on the boy's wrists gentled. He cupped the back of Roxas' head, sagging onto the blond's back, digging his face into the dip of his spine. "God _damn _it, Roxas, I just wanted to cuff you again. That was all. All you had to do was give me your fucking hand, and I'd already have been in the shower. You _asshole."_

Thunder cracked nearby, the two of them flinching at the suddenness of it. With a quiet exhalation, Axel drew away from the blond, moving off of his body, pulling the cuffs from his back pocket and clicking one ring around a wrist. As his bare feet touched the carpet, Roxas hesitated, rolled over halfway, sending back a wary, wide-eyed look, like he didn't trust the redhead to not fling himself back on and start rutting. But… Axel was in control of himself, for now. It was getting more difficult, but he was holding out. He was… doing okay.

Roxas was left under the table again, chained to it once more as Axel silently gathered fresh clothing off the bed, wrinkled after their struggle, and disappeared into the bathroom. Steam billowed out when the door opened, the water having been running all that time, then was sliced off as he shut it again after himself. Roxas was back to being alone, although at least this time he wasn't gagged. But then, last time he hadn't been petrified like this, so it was hard to figure out which was the lesser of two evils.

Jesus hell. He'd really thought that was it; that that was the moment it all fell apart. He'd thought he was going to end up raped. Axel had slid his fucking _crotch _against his _ass, _Roxas could still _feel _it, it was this – living memory against his flesh. But the worst part, the most despicable thing of all, was that Roxas had got this… sudden flash of recognition. That dream he'd had, just a few weeks ago, the one that had ended up with him getting a freaking hard-on in the middle of suburbia, _it had been so reminiscent of this. _Axel on top of him, reeking of stale smoke and sweat… really, it had been the smell more than anything that had spiked through him, to the point where – he'd… almost been responding to the touches. It wasn't that he _wanted _to, his mind rebelled fiercely at the idea, but his body was following a different set of rules. His body – had _remembered _Axel, for just the briefest of moments, and… and now, he had to wonder… Heart beating frantically in his chest, he had to _wonder…_

_Pain. _

Roxas flinched, let out a small, involuntary gasp as it sliced through his head like a blade; pain like nothing Axel had inflicted on him, pain that cut through every thought and feeling without hesitation and left them to become dust. His head, oh Lord, his _head! _He balled in on himself, knees up to his chest, free arm wrapped around his neck with his fingers curled like talons over the sweep of his skull. Tears sprang to his eyes, unshed but automatic, gaze piercing wildly into nothing, and the _pain… _He was close to crying out from it, mentally scrabbling to escape that which had brought it to life, fleeing from that flicker of awareness that had sparked deep inside, leaving it to wither and wander in the darkness all on its own, because _there was too much pain down there!_

He was torn from the increasingly frenzied sensation by a strobe of lightning so close and blue that it struck the room with blinding illumination, the instantaneous thunder seeming to crack the sky into pieces, deafening Roxas, the power in the room snapping off, plunging him into utter blackness. The silence that followed was slowly filled with the roar of rain, the small sobs of relief that he didn't even know he was making until Axel was bent over him, dripping hot water and shushing him worriedly, holding him close. His voice right next to Roxas' ear, the man murmured, "It's okay, you don't have to be scared, the storm won't hurt you, sweetheart. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, I'm so sorry, Roxas, I'm such an asshole…"

He didn't realise that he had nothing to do with it, that Roxas was no more afraid of storms than he was of small spiders or dandelions. Axel didn't understand that the reason he was crying was because the pain was gone, as if it had been startled off by the crashing noise, and if he'd thought he'd been grateful over having his handcuffs removed, that emotion was nothing but a drop in the ocean compared to what consumed him now.

The world had dulled a little at its edges, had taken on a thin haze of grey. Roxas couldn't fight, didn't have the energy to, as Axel released him from the table and instead handcuffed the blond to himself, before carrying his suddenly slack body over to the bed. Carefully, carefully, he lay the boy down on the mattress, smoothing out the comforter beneath him, leaning over and gazing hard into his face, bewilderment on his narrow features as Roxas stared glassily back. One soft hand rose up to touch the side of the blond's face, Roxas flinching back, Axel's fingers curling in onto his palm with disappointment. The man settled beside him, watching him achingly in the darkness, Roxas eventually turning onto his side so that he didn't have to glimpse the reflection of lightning against eyes whenever it flashed over the heavens. He felt tired, oh, so tired, drained of energy and life and motivation, but somehow he was too afraid to close his eyes, and again, it had nothing to do with Axel.

Roxas was feeling watched, feeling stalked, hunted, preyed upon, and once upon a time that could have been attributed to Axel's presence in his life, but now he knew that the two were almost mutually exclusive. He couldn't sleep; he wouldn't. He absolutely would not sleep, not even if Axel held his nose and mouth shut, cut off all his oxygen, cut his throat, cut his life short. He wouldn't sleep, even if the man offered him freedom from now until forever in exchange.

If Roxas slept, he would die. How could he have forgotten this?

Throughout that night, Axel held onto him, kept an arm around him at all times, even at the cost of his own chained-up comfort. Water flooded into the room from the outside, an inch of it covering the floor, the deluge lessening at one point but refusing to cease entirely. Axel eventually fell asleep at Roxas' back, rhythmic exhalations fanning his neck. The blond remained awake almost all the way through to dawn, staring blankly into the darkness, before losing the battle so rapidly he hadn't even been aware he was fighting; he was overtaken in the way that lions take down sickly gazelle that didn't even see the end approaching.

It took thirty minutes for Sora to open his eyes, watching the sun rise, through the curtain, through the rain. Axel pulled him unconsciously against his warm chest, but if Sora really concentrated, deluded himself convincingly enough… he could almost pretend that it was Riku. He could imagine that the hand pressed to his hip was softer, less callused, the slight, occasional murmur was smoother and less distinctive, that the reek of alcohol was some kind of vodka or flavoured schnapps…

Really, the only thing getting him through this was the silent promise of, _eventually._


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **I know this out a little early – ie, I haven't finished with the reviews from the last chapter yet – but I really wanted to wrap up the current lot of updates for this story so I can focus on my final CLT110 essay ^^; So I'll be taking a break to write that, and then be leaving HTPD for a bit to write first a oneshot, then a couple chapters for Sink It In. Thank you all so, so much for the recent enthusiasm with this story, you have no idea how much it spurs me on ^__^ Sorry this chapter is… slowish.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Sora sat on the motel bed with his left hand locked to the nightstand, eating a vending machine candy bar. It tasted bizarre – who the hell had dreamt that sea salt-flavoured chocolate would be a good idea? – but Axel's expectant expression as he'd passed them over had led him to conclude that he should probably just shut up and eat. And really, it sort of grew on you after a while.

For the last fifteen minutes, he'd been left entirely on his own, Axel outside, slogging through a monsoon's rainfall in an attempt to find out the state of the single, solitary road out of this place. He'd tried initially to force Sora to squat under some tiny circular table in two inches of freezing water, handcuffed to its central column, but there'd been no way in hell that Sora was agreeing to that. He had crossed his arms, twisted his legs together, wrapped himself up inside the comforter like it was a cocoon, and steadfastly _refused. _Instead, they'd reached a compromise – at Sora's own suggestion, the man had yanked the top two drawers out of the nightstand and cuffed him to the bar of wood that separated them at the front. It was solid enough to require a hell of a lot more time and effort than Sora was willing to expend to break free, and with the boy cramming candy into his half-starved body, Axel had reluctantly left. Sora wasn't entirely sure what had happened while Roxas had been conscious, but it had seemed like quite a large portion of that reluctance had its foundations in more than a mere security concern.

Frowning meditatively, the boy chewed on the variety of snacks and wondered what he'd missed. In the end, it didn't really matter all that much, not even if Roxas decided he was in love with Axel – the impact on Sora's designs would be minimal. But still, the redhead's expression had been troubled, and in turn troubling. Sora needed for there to be a measure of trust between them if he was going to eventually break free of Axel and put his own plans into execution, and if Roxas was disrupting that…

Well – he was sure it would be fine, anyway. After all, Axel _had _left him here by himself, and if he'd thought that 'Roxas' was going to yell and scream and cause problems, he certainly wouldn't have been so careless. It was taking an inordinately long time for him to come back, though, considering his task. He must have got distracted. Sora leaned back against the wall, bare feet digging into the blankets, watching the door for the man's return, trying to calculate how long it would take to get past the Wastelands. There were a couple of rest stops along the immensely long highway, but judging by the solidity and age of this place, from what he could recall, he estimated that they were just short of the halfway point. The weather would most probably slow them down for half a day overall, including whatever hours they had already lost by having to stop overnight… which placed them a little bit over a day and a half from the other side, the city of Edge.

Edge… that was still a fair way from where Sora needed to be. And what about Axel's plans – what did he have in mind for where to go? Shaking his head faintly, a crease appearing along his brow, Sora shrugged it off for the moment – there was no use in worrying about what couldn't be changed, especially in the middle of the Wastelands. And no matter _where _they ended up on the map, he would still be able to do what needed to be done,there was no doubt about it. Nothing would derail him from here.

Nobody… even knew he existed.

Axel returned at long last with a bang of the door, Sora jumping, the handcuffs rattling against the nightstand. The man looked strained, dirty, and wet, an angry, agitated expression in place as he wiped filthy hands down his shirt front, grease streaking his forehead and one cheek. Sora looked him up and down, sceptically asked, through a mouthful of chocolate, "What did you do, go a round with a mud monster and lose?"

Axel shot him a dark glance, eyes narrow, sloshing across the room to the table, shrugging his shoulders up and yanking his black undershirt off, his torso pale and thinly muscled. Using the shirt to wipe himself clean, he sharply muttered, "I fucked up. I'm not smart with cars, okay?"

Sora quirked an eyebrow, paused mid-chew. "…What did you do?"

Slapping the dirty shirt down onto the table, unzipping his bag and pulling out a fresh white one, the redhead avoided looking over at the blond, barking, "There was water sitting all through the engine like the storm took place under the fucking hood, and I was a jerk and started it up without checking first. It sucked it all up into whatever-the-fuck, I don't know, and now it's completely dead. It won't start anymore. I went and got the motel clerk to come see, and he started laughing at me." He twisted around, eyes blazing. "Okay?"

Sora blinked, ran this through his mind, then had to fight back a twitching smile. "He laughed at you? You didn't kill him, did you?"

Axel stalked across the room, grabbing the boy by the front of his shirt, demanding, "You think that's funny? What –" He reeled back, outraged, as Sora started laughing out loud. "What the _fuck _is so _funny, _Roxas?"

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, leaning back in the man's grip, laughing his ass off, tears springing to his eyes. One finger coming up to point weakly at Axel's chest, he gasped, "You – _you – _you came over so angrily, but, but you were splashing through the water, and it totally ruined the mood."

Axel stared at him for a long moment, bewildered, then disgustedly let him drop to the mattress. "Great. Fucking fantastic. Even _you_ think I'm a joke now." He turned away, went back over to the table, expression bitter. Over his shoulder, he bit off, "I'm so glad you're amused, Rox. Really. Remember this moment later, all right? When the Organisation has us both locked up far, far away from the sun, you just use this fun memory to keep you going."

Sora inhaled sharply, began coughing on chocolate-and-salt-flavoured saliva, broke off with a fist across his mouth as he struggled to control it. Sounding strangled, he forced out speech, echoing urgently, "The Organisation? What do you mean, they're actually _after _us?"

Axel's jaw tightened, fingers rising to press against his forehead, a grimace in place. He leaned heavily against the table, volume lowering. "I didn't want to worry you, since I know you don't know what I'm talking about… but yeah, there's a pretty big chance they know we're on the run."

Sora nearly started choking again. _"On the run?"_

Head jerking around, meeting his shocked gaze, the man asked anxiously, "What else could I do? I told you, I can't let them get to you, Roxas! You've been missing for months upon months, nobody knew if you'd defected or _what _was going on, and if you suddenly turn up without any memories, what do you think they will _do _to you?" He shook his head, lips pressing together tightly. "Right now, all you are is a – a _huge_ liability to the Organisation. They've been _searching _for you, and after I…" He closed his eyes, squeezed them shut. "After my little trick with your friend's apartment building, there's a good chance they'll be able to figure us out. I haven't… checked in for a while, Rox. I've been a little bit missing myself, since I found you in Twilight Town. And there's really…" he lifted his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh, "…nothing quite my calling card like a building suddenly lit on fire. Along with the police report your friends issued, and the details of you that will be rising up… they're bound to realise that I've grabbed you and run, and they'll be… wanting to catch up with us." He let out a deep breath, squinting at the tabletop with a fierce grimace. "I really… really am fucking this up for us. But I'm trying. And… no matter what, I'll keep you safe." He turned towards the bed, a raw look in his eyes, arms hanging by his sides. "Roxas, I swear to you, I'll protect you. I would – _die _before I let anything bad happen, I can promise you that."

Sora stared, barely remembering _how _to blink, let alone doing it, a fine sliver of worry inserting itself into his being. "…You're – pretty intense, aren't you? I mean, about… me." Everything Axel had said, every word he'd uttered, had had this passion of – complete and utter sincerity about it. Even, and perhaps especially, the part about dying. It was like… like dying would be the easiest thing in the world for this man to do for Roxas. That was the _basic _stuff, and virtually nothing compared to what he would do _alive _for him. Axel's voice, when he talked about the lengths he would go for Roxas, _resonated. _There wasn't a single syllable he breathed that he didn't mean with every ounce of his being.

It was a little bit daunting, to tell the truth. Intimidating. Sora was beginning to develop a dawning realisation of what things must be like for Roxas right now.

In response to his observation, Axel slowly swished through the inches of rainwater flooding the room, coming around beside the bed and cupping Sora's face with a touch more gentle than the boy would have thought he was capable of. He felt a squirm of discomfort, there being nothing within himself that was attracted to Axel, not to mention the fact that this tender touch was intended for another. It embarrassed him on some deep-down level that the man was exposing so much of himself to the completely wrong person – not only that, but to someone who was essentially a hidden enemy.

"Intense…" Axel's voice was as soft as his touch, his other hand coming up to delicately brush a strand of blond away from Sora's eyes, "…about you… Yeah. I am. I always, always have been." He bent down, brushing his mouth across the newly-applied gauze covering the stitches on the boy's cheek. Sora stiffened a little, unsure of how to react, not knowing what Roxas' own feelings towards the man were. The chasm that yawned between the two of them within this one body was too wide to bridge, Sora's one and only advantage over Roxas being that he _knew _there were two of them in here, whereas Roxas continued on oblivious to his other. Information and emotions remained firmly on one side or the other of the divide, non-interchangeable.

Axel rested his chin onto Sora's shoulder, arms loose around the boy's slender body, and whispered into his ear, "I know that it scares you, Roxas, but at least you can comfort yourself with the fact that I'll fight for you with everything I have. That counts for something, right?"

Sora felt his face heating up, didn't know what to do with his hands, and so instead gave a nervous cough, leaning away from the man's encircling grasp, a questioning half-smile on his face. "…Right," he answered uncertainly, then smiled a little bit more, hoping that the redhead would let go. "So, anyway, uh – what do we do about keeping away from the Organisation? Because I'm pretty sure the best thing would be you _not _having to die for me. You just keep on… keeping on, yeah?" He awkwardly patted Axel's shoulder, then flinched and let out a startled noise as the man's arms tightened without warning, briefly squeezing the breath from his body.

"_You smell so familiar right now," _Axel mumbled desperately into his collar. "Oh, Jesus. You smell just like that sea-salt crap. I haven't even looked at those things since you disappeared."

"Oh, you like it?" Sora frantically grabbed up the half-eaten chocolate bar he'd dropped when Axel had grabbed him, and shoved it into the side of the man's mouth, driving him back, prying the two of them apart. "Here! Have it, I don't mind. I like to share!"

Axel pulled completely away, letting out a small, _"Ah," _of pain, pressing the fingertips of one hand into the corner of his mouth, where the candy bar had practically mauled him. There was a smudge of chocolate on his face now, and with a vaguely annoyed expression, he went over to the table and used his old shirt to wipe it off. Balling it up, he pulled a plastic bag out of the large black duffel, a clump of dirty clothing already within, and added the black undershirt to the collection, before tying off the top and shoving it back in. Clearing his throat, he resumed the conversation in a normal tone, as though it had never digressed in the first place. "What we're going to have to do," he said, face averted from the blond as he tidied up, "is hitch. It's too expensive, and would take too long, to get the car fixed up. We'd have to wait for it to get towed a few hours down the road to the auto shop, since the gas station at this place doesn't do that sort of thing." Zipping the bag back up, he turned towards the boy, continuing, "So we'll go to the store in the gas station, buy up on supplies, and try to find someone in the diner to give us a lift. But Roxas –" His face took on a stern cast. "I'm telling you now, any of your puppy-dog-eyes bullshit, and there'll be trouble. I don't want you communicating with _anyone _unless I initiate it, or they initiate it within my earshot, okay?"

"Jeeze," Sora muttered, "possessive much?"

Axel's eyes widened. "…What the hell did you just say?" His brows drew together. "Roxas, where has this – fun little sense of humour of yours sprung from?" The tone of his voice suggested to Sora that 'fun' could have a lot of different meanings, not all of them necessarily obvious. "I'm not – really getting it."

Glancing away, Sora shrugged, "What's not to get? I'm not doing it deliberately, it just came out. I don't _have _a sense of humour," he added, after a moment's consideration. Axel frowned at him, touching the corner of his lips again, as if the candy bar thing really had hurt, before letting out a short, sharp sigh.

"Look, just – whatever. Forget it." He shook his head, closed his eyes for a second, obviously composing himself. "So, I mean it – don't screw around out there. You'll be off the cuffs, so if you run, you'll have to run very far, very fast. I'm talking eighty miles per hour for the next two days. That's the only way I won't catch up to you."

Sora rolled his eyes. "Now who's trying to be funny?"

"It's not a joke, Roxas." Axel's expression was flat, emotionless. "Just keep it in mind."

Sora sighed. "Right. Gotcha. I'll be good, okay?"

Damn straight he'd be good; Axel was the type of guy who was just as likely to turn all the petrol pumps outside the gas station into earth-shaking bombs to eradicate witnesses of misdeeds. Sora wasn't going to be the one to stain his hands with that sort of blood. If there was one thing in this world that he believed – especially after seeing how much of a fixation the redhead truly had on Roxas – it was that Axel would pretty much stop at nothing to keep the blond all to himself. Sora was _not _ready to fight fire with fire, not with this guy.

Axel eyed him suspiciously for a moment, gathering the straps of the bag and slowly pulling them over one shoulder. He approached the bed again, went to the nightstand, and, keeping his gaze on the boy, cautiously unlocked first the handcuff caught around the drawer divider, then the one around Sora's wrist. The boy automatically massaged the site – Axel sure liked to make it snug against the skin, as if he was going to turn into mercury and slither his way out – and began scooting along to the end of the bed. The man shadowed his every movement, completely untrusting. As Sora lowered one foot into the chilly water, he winced, flicked his eyes up to the watching redhead, and said, "Hey – do you think I could get some shoes on me? This barefoot thing is growing old, real fast." Axel stood over him, a strange look on his face as he gazed down, the boy's head tilted back, blue eyes blinking up at him. A long moment passed, after which Sora raised a hand and snapped his fingers. "Earth to Axel? Shoes? Pretty please?"

"…You can get some flip-flops in the gas station store." The expression remaining, the man hitched the bag close to his body, clamping a hand down on Sora's shoulder as the boy distastefully added his second foot into the dark water. He gave a shiver at the cold, which travelled up into Axel's hand and was echoed faintly by the redhead's body. Trying not to notice it, Sora stood, sliding out of Axel's grasp, hands going behind his head as he made for the door at a pace that hopefully wasn't quick enough to be misconstrued as 'trying to run'. Axel dogged him fairly closely, but didn't try to grab him again, which Sora took as a reasonable indication of – wary trust. Well, maybe not trust; maybe just a firm belief in the fact that he had nowhere to go.

Leaving a collection of candy wrappers on the bed, the two males exited out into the wide, wet world. Sora got his first good look at the place, eyes swivelling slowly around the area, taking everything in and pinpointing them more accurately on his mental map of the Wastelands. Yep – he remembered this place. He'd been correct about where they were, too. So, Axel was truly actually proposing that they hitch-hike for a day and a half's journey, at _least. _And then what? Sora threw the man a faintly frustrated, sidelong glance. Considering all the trouble they were meant to be avoiding, he was startlingly lacking in good sense. He would have hoped for more from the Organisation's eighth member, if only he hadn't already known just how unpredictable Axel could be. And he was supposed to be placing his safety in this man's hands?

The flood level outside was deeper than that which had flown into the rooms, about a foot of water in all covering the parking lot as they splashed around to the front of the building, Axel throwing a resentful look at the rental sitting dormant in its space. The water on the road looked only slightly thinner, and so far all the cars that remained in the motel lot were smaller ones like theirs. It looked like their best option was to find a trucker to get along with, unless they resigned themselves to hanging around for the sun to evaporate it all a little more.

It amazed Sora that so much rain had obviously fallen throughout the night, yet the sky could look perfectly peaceful and innocent the next day like this. The air had a fresh feel to it, warming swiftly but tinged with that cool smell of moisture and earth. He inhaled it deeply, enjoying the mixed scents, the feel of the sun on his face as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He'd spent so long belonging only to the night, he had almost forgotten what it was like to walk through the light. With the heat on his skin and the water around his ankles, he could pretend he was somewhere fun, with someone he remembered from before. It felt a lot like… freedom.

When he opened his eyes again, Axel was watching him. It kind of seemed like Axel was _always _watching him, with one expression or another, and the current one was – both sad and tender at the same time. There were too many emotions within that man at any given point in time, and they never strayed far from his face. It made Sora sigh, made him frown and wish there was a wall he could place between them. "Come on," he said to the redhead, who he suspected could have happily stared at him all day and night, "I want those flip-flops, damn it."

Axel slowly nodded, and threaded an arm around the boy's shoulders as they commenced the walk over towards the gas station. When Sora squirmed, trying to wriggle away again, the man said with hard, quiet edge, "Stop it, Roxas. We're going to pretend to be a happy couple again, just like we did at the last motel."

"Oh, what a stretch of character for you, pretending you're my other half," Sora replied, with a rolling of blue eyes, only to have Axel's fingers dig hard into his upper arm, a burning glance shooting down at him. With a grimace and a nod, the boy muttered, "Right, sorry. Sense of humour, off the menu. I'll behave." Keeping his mouth shut was probably a good idea from here on outwards. Considering the response Axel was having to his quips, he figured they weren't very Roxas-like remarks to be making, and sabotaging himself wasn't exactly high on his list of things to do today. It wasn't as if Axel would ever suspect that the person he was currently with was different from the one he'd fallen asleep to, but all the same, Sora didn't want to cause more waves than were inevitable. He figured he'd just tone down his personality a little, act duller. That was the Roxas everyone knew and loved, right? What an exciting existence he was going to lead in Axel's company. Big fat not.

"The legs of your jeans are getting wet, you know," he couldn't help but point out, as they trekked across the miniature lake that the parking lot had become and entered into the gas station's boundaries, the gas bowsers looking like metal buoys.

"Mm," Axel murmured, eyes flicking around the surroundings alertly. "I had noticed, Rox. But thanks. For informing me."

The boy heaved a sigh, and gave up. The gas station's doors were open already, supposed to be electric but staying stationery, a burly, thunderous-faced man behind the counter calling as they entered, "All refrigerated goods are on sale, they'll be dead by midday." He obviously resented the hell out of this fact, and them for being there to take advantage of it.

"You don't have a generator?" Axel asked.

"If I had a _working _generator, son," the man responded with as much condescending acid as he could manage, "do you think I'd be letting my produce fall into decay?" He concluded it with a muttered, _"Dumbass," _and went back to reading a newspaper.

Sora found himself stroking Axel's forearm soothingly as it clamped against him, murmuring, "It's okay, don't kill him, all right? He's not worth it."

The redhead gave him an intensely irritated look. "Exactly how much of a psychopath do you think I am?" Jerking his arm away from the blond, he snapped, "Find some damn shoes, if they're so important to you. I'm getting some groceries. Don't wander off."

Leaving Sora standing there, he disappeared into the aisles in search of non-perishables for the days ahead. The boy let loose an exhalation that echoed in the hush, catching the store-owner's eye with a weak smile. Briefly, feeling the doorway gaping behind him, he wondered how successful he'd be if he tried fleeing from here and finding someone to hitch with _really fast, _but discarded the idea before it had even properly occurred. The results of such a fiasco were much easier to imagine, and far more graphic than he could stomach first thing in the morning. Instead, Sora turned down the first aisle, heading towards the bargain bin at the far end of the store, where he knew the odds and ends like flip-flops and bubble-blowers and other cheap crap resided. He had to dig through some ancient cassette tapes, wondering if anyone actually had players for them anymore, but eventually emerged victorious with a pair of red foam ones that were more or less his size. A little big, perhaps, but wearable, and better than bare soles.

As he turned away from the bin, seeing nothing else of immediate interest within its depths, he caught sight of a flash of motion in his left peripheral, glanced over automatically, and was brought short by the sight of himself reflected in the window. Beyond the window, the gas pumps and waterlogged Wastelands awaited, but inside the glass stood a young, blond man who was barely more than a boy, with wide eyes and pale skin. Sora had already seen himself like this, of course, blond spikes destroying what could have almost been mistaken for his own face in the right light, but that glimpse he'd got in the car's wing mirror the other night hadn't had quite the same impact as this did. When he looked into this reflection, he saw Roxas. When he looked inside himself, he found Sora. The duality of them, that face with this mind and personality, was headache inducing. It made his head sag on his neck, made his shoulders roll into a slump, made something inside his chest quiver. He felt… frail, all of a sudden, and… just a little bit confused.

Bringing up the red flip-flops, he covered his face, blocked out the vision. How long he stood there, listening to the breaths enter and leave his chest, he didn't know, but eventually Axel was beside him again, touching his shoulder and saying, "Roxas…?" in a tentatively concerned tone.

It took Sora several moments to be able to answer him, a few strained inhalations required before he could respond hoarsely, "Yes?"

Careful fingers were touching his hair. "What are you doing? Does your head hurt or something?"

Sora laughed a little, shook his head. "No. I'm fine. Completely fine. Don't worry about it." Before he lowered the flip-flops, he turned away from the window, so that the first thing he saw was a rack of candy when he opened his eyes. "Hey, Axel? Buy me some candy, would you? I think I'm getting a sugar low."

The man lifted an eyebrow. "…But you…" He trailed off at the look on the boy's face, and didn't bother to finish pointing out that he'd just earlier been eating a whole pile of chocolate. Instead, he complied with Sora's request and grabbed a quick selection before looping his arm behind the boy's back and guiding him over towards the counter. Placing the candy, flip-flops, and a half-filled basket of various other things that would inevitably be crammed into his bag up onto the counter, Axel took out some cash, asked as the man started ringing it all up, "How long until the power comes back on?"

The guy grunted. "Hell if I know. When I'm bankrupted, probably." He took Axel's money with a clang of the register, and handed back some petty change, bagging the purchases and handing them over as ungraciously as he could. With a small, tight smile, Axel took the handles from him, wrapped his arm back around Sora's shoulders, and steered him out of the store, muttering once they were out of earshot, "That bastard short-changed me. Miserable fucker. Remind me to come back and burn this place down someday, when I'm less intent on being forgettable." When Sora said nothing in response, he squeezed the boy carefully, voice softening to ask, "Hey… how's that sugar low?"

Sora drew a deep breath, turned his face up to smile brightly at the man. "I'll be fine! There's absolutely nothing to worry about!"

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Axel's features, but in reply, all he said was, "Forget the candy bars, we'll save those for later. Maybe they've got some food at the diner that hasn't gone bad from the blackout, that'd be better for you." Wading through the water, the two males headed over towards the establishment, Sora's stomach growling as the hypnotic scent of cooking bacon reached out to meet them before they'd even got within five feet of the entrance.

Pushing the door open for Sora, Axel noted, "I guess _their _generator's still working…?" The boy was swamped with cooking smells, the front counter crammed with people shoulder to shoulder on barstools, the flood water pooling at the base of the metal bars. He could hear splashing in the kitchen as the griddle-chef fried up a storm of grease-laden food, the waitresses and single busboy – all looking to be of the same family, no doubt their own business living all the way out here – frantically traversing back and forth to serve the customers.

Axel tugged on Sora's sleeve, jerked his head to the side, red hair swaying, leading him away from the hub of activity and instead over to one of the side tables. "Hey, stay here, okay?" He dropped his two bags, duffel and plastic, at Sora's elbow, then planted a hand on the table, leaning over the boy. "I'll go order us something to eat, and see if I can find someone to give us a lift. Stay put, Rox, and no messing around."

He could say that, but the truth was, Sora's compliance was beginning to pay off; Axel seemed less intent in the way that he was warning him, more expectant that his commands would be obeyed. This was good; this was progress. If in just a short amount of time Sora could encourage him to begin dropping his guard, even just a little, then bit by bit, he would surely be able to chip it away, until he had a gap to escape through when the time truly arrived, when it would work to the greatest advantage. It felt like the beginning of a coup, Axel's fingertips trailing along his skin as he walked away. Sora rubbed at the area, obliterating the leftover tickling tingle of contact, and crossed his arms on the table, bumping his chin down onto them to wait.

The inside of the diner was a din of noise, the frying, the voices, all centralised over at the counter. There were no lights on, and no music, the vast majority of the generator's power no doubt being routed to the refrigerative units and griddle cooker. The servers, while frantic with the rush of so many orders all at once, were probably accustomed to this sort of thing, the Midgar Wastelands being pretty well renown for its once or twice-yearly tendency to fill up. You wouldn't think a business could thrive in that sort of environment, but he supposed that when you were one of the few stops along the way, it would be pretty much worth it, fiscally. Sora's eyes wandered to the floor, wondering how they managed to dry the place out each time, his fingers tapping idly at the plastic sides of the grocery bag.

By the time Axel returned, the boy had pulled out his brand new eight-dollar flip-flops and donned them, holding his feet out from the chair to admire the acquisitions, wriggling his toes against their softness and generally not paying attention to his surroundings. It took him a moment to realise that the redhead had even come back – Axel was standing a foot away, studying him with a wretched expression on his face, one that Sora couldn't instantly place when he finally noticed him there. When he realised that it was a look of deep, deep worry, the boy took a moment to feel insulted.

Letting out a delicate cough, Sora tucked his legs back under the table, arching an eyebrow at the man and asking, "Well? How did it go?"

Axel blinked, slowly insinuated himself into the chair opposite the boy, fingers drumming once automatically against the tabletop. "I got you eggs and toast."

Sora wished he'd asked for pancakes instead – he could really go for some maple syrup right now. Instead of vocalising this, however, he shook his head. "I mean, how are we for a lift? Did you find anyone?"

Axel nodded, glancing over at the counter. "There's a guy with a four-wheel-drive, he's heading out straight after breakfast. He's the only one going our way, everyone else is moving east, there's some convention happening in Costa del Sol." He swallowed, drummed his fingers again, gaze fixed on Sora as they waited for the food to arrive. "…Roxas, look. About last night…" He broke off, as though waiting for Sora to interrupt. When the boy looked back at him blankly, however, giving no sign of wishing to speak, he took a breath, forged on, "I'm sorry. I'm really… I never meant to…" He stopped again, rubbing a hand over his face. Beginning to form an inkling of what he might be driving at, Sora did a quick mental check of his physical state – was anything particularly sore today? Off-balance? He didn't _think _so, he was sure he would have noticed upon waking if anything was – wrong – with Roxas' body, since the blond's pain was Sora's pain.

Cautiously, he ventured, "It's okay. I'm – fine. You didn't do any damage, so…"

The man gave a tight laugh, staring at the boy helplessly. "But, see… You say that, but I know that I scared you, Rox, and today you're – acting… differently. And I, I don't want…"

"Wait." Finally, Sora did cut him off, holding up a hand to stop him in his tracks. "Wait a second. So – you're choosing _now _to apologise for being frightening? After everything you've done so far, what happened last night, _that's _what you decide is making a difference to my personality?" He rested his chin on his knuckles, sending the redhead a long, unimpressed look. "Axel, you tore me away from everything, have had me locked to various fixtures, have intimidated me with all sorts of threats, and now you're acting like you feel responsible for making me act _differently?" _He shook his head. "Exactly how much did you think you could get away with, honestly? Do you really think that apologising for last night is going to change a single damn thing?" Lowering his knuckles to rap them hard against the tabletop, Sora went on with sudden coldness, "If it bothers you so much, quit now, while you're ahead; let me go before you make things worse. If you're not going to give me at least that, then don't bother saying a damn word, because it means _nothing _if you're not going to back it up with _action. _If you feel bad every time you scare me, then you're going to live a pretty miserable, guilty life."

Looking stung, for once utterly lost for words, Axel could only sit there, lips pressed thinly together, forehead wrinkled with the force of his scowl. Sora continued to eye him, waiting to see if any great response would be forthcoming… but when the silence stretched, the boy eventually shrugged and turned his attention to the plastic bag of groceries, picking idly through until the food arrived. The whole time that they ate, Axel didn't make a single noise, didn't speak a syllable, and Sora noticed that he appeared to have lost his appetite, as well. It seemed to be that the truth really did hit hard and hurt; maybe Axel was having to face up to it for the first time, the reality of what Sora had said. Because really: he personally couldn't see this working out. Obviously, when it was him, it would _never _work out, because Sora would jet the instant he knew all the dominos were ready to fall on his side; but he couldn't imagine Roxas really going for it, either. What _had _Axel expected? For Roxas to miraculously remember him, so they could go back to being a weird, messed-up couple, where Axel spent half his life alternating between feeling terror for Roxas, and suffering unrequited love? How could the man have not breathed a sigh of relief once he'd realised that Roxas was _gone?_ How could he _not_ have just let things go, from that point?

Sora had a theory that Axel was just plain old masochistic. It fit; it really, really did.

They finished their meal in total silence, Sora drinking his juice with blue eyes alert over the rim of the glass, forever roaming and absorbing some new detail of their environment. At last, Axel finally muttered, "Come on," and stood up, chair legs scraping the floor under the water, Sora just about giving himself a neck cramp as his head swivelled to see who the redhead was lifting a hand of acknowledgement to. His eyes landed on a forty-ish man with blond hair, a dry expression, and three toothpicks jammed in his mouth. "Let's get movin'," he barked between his teeth, toothpicks bobbing, passing by their table and splashing out into the parking lot. Axel snatched up their bags, shoving the plastic one into Sora's arms, closing a hand around the back of the boy's neck and steering him as they followed the man.

The sun was lifting higher and hotter over the stark landscape, humidity rising as the night's rain was slowly burnt away, the air dense and sweat-inducing. The vehicle that the stomping man led them to sat parked half on the curb, its bumper almost a foot above the water level, less a 'four-wheel-drive' than a be-wheeled beast of the road. Axel and Sora halted as the man brought out a set of keys, unlocking the driver's door and swinging it open, ushering them through with an impatient wave of one toughened hand. "In, in, I've got a deadline to meet, kiddos."

"What kinda deadline?" Sora inquired curiously, Axel's hands around his waist, helping to lift him up into the interior, the boy clambering across the long front seat to the other side and sitting down.

"Got a stack of blueprints waiting to be looked over for some new-fangled military choppers, son," came the reply as Axel climbed in after him, looking unnervingly predatory as his long arms led the way, like a stalking panther with green fire for eyes, "but do me a favour and keep that gem to yourself, huh?" Last but not least, the man hauled himself up as Axel settled beside Sora, the two of them gripping their bags on their knees, one of the redhead's arms pushing across Sora's shoulders and holding him close. The door closed with a bang, the blond man starting up the engine, barely even throwing a glance over his shoulder before the beast was reversing sharply, engine a loud, throbbing growl. "All aboard? I advocate seatbelts, kids, get 'em on or get outta my truck."

Axel leaned over the boy, grabbing the belt up by his head and stretching it over the pair of them, clipping it into his middle lock, keeping Sora firmly in place. The man shot them a briefly disapproving look – Sora could hear all sorts of safety warnings swimming around his mind, just from looking at him – but held his tongue, obviously choosing to respect their 'relationship', whatever that might be.

They drove slowly through the parking lot, water sluicing out from the wheels, the man performing a quick check for traffic before pulling out onto the highway. Almost instantly, they surged forward, sturdy wheels slicing straight through the flood, the man taking them up to an effortless high speed, completely unfazed by the rainfall thundering against the undercarriage. Over the noise, the man called, "The name's Cid."

"I'm Axel," Axel yelled back, his hand squeezing Sora as he went on, "and this is Roxas. We really appreciate the lift. We're on vacation."

"Yeah," Sora chipped in wryly, "we're having a lot of a lot of fun." He received a small grip of warning, Axel's smile stretching wide, eyes sliding sideways to shoot him a surreptitiously narrow look. Taking the hint, the boy held his tongue henceforth, and their benefactor, Cid, said nothing further. He drove with concentration, not bothering with conversation, Sora and Axel left to gaze out the window and watch the Wastelands fly by.

Without pause, occasionally passing other cars heading the opposite way, they powered through the barren landscape for miles on end, the sun lifting up to its peak in the sky before beginning its slow descent.

It was at this point that Roxas woke up, and didn't know where the hell he was.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **Whewwwwwwwwwww – it's taken me a while, yes? And may well continue to do so, life being a busy creation, but you guys can take this as proof that I *am* still thinking and plotting and planning and occasionally scribbling. First chapter update in a *long* time (which reminds me to apologise for my sucky review responses for the last posting – I actually have half of them replied to in Word, but never managed to complete the task ^^; Oops!) Hope you guys enjoy it :)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The first indicator Axel received that something wasn't quite right was the sudden tensing of the smaller body tucked under his right arm, a stillness sweeping over Roxas that moments ago hadn't existed. The boy's head twitched to look out at the barren, whipping landscape of the Wastelands for a long heartbeat, hands clutching once, convulsively, at the plastic bag of groceries sitting in his lap, Axel leaning down with a frown to try and read his expression.

The second indicator was Roxas' elbow smashing into his nose.

Axel's head rocked back, face cupped with a muffled shout, more surprised than particularly injured. Beside him, Roxas thrashed, the bag weathering his bouncing knees for only a few seconds before one of the tins of condensed milk toppled out, leading the rest of the groceries in a plummeting bid for freedom. They all scattered and bounced across the SUV's floor, Cid letting out a bellow comprised of shock and anger, jerking to the side to keep from getting smacked by the sudden jostling. _"What in the damn hell - ?"_

"_Bastard!" _Roxas' briefly voice soared above the other man's, hoarse and filled with panicked rage as he kicked and struggled, trying to punch off Axel's advancing hands as they came stabbing in to grab him. One managed to snag his wrist, grip tightening, the redhead shouting with alarm, "Calm _down,_ Roxas!" Their grunting breaths ricocheted around the vehicle, elbows pistoning back and forth as with clasped hands each attempted to overpower the other, the seatbelt that held them both in place snapping in and out with the swell of their motions.

As Axel began to gain the upper hand a frantic few moments later, the blond bared his teeth, blue eyes wild, and again spat, _"Bastard! _What the hell do you think you're doing? What did you do, _drug _me?" He tried to force his knees in under the redhead's stomach, the vehicle swaying alarmingly on the road as the man at its wheel tried to keep an eye on the action, Axel snarling and forcing himself down as hard as he could on the smaller male. _"Did you drug me?" _Roxas demanded savagely. "And who the _fuck _is that guy, your kidnap buddy?" He twisted in Axel's increasingly powerful grasp, letting out a loud growl of frustration. _"Let – go – of – me!"_

Astounded by the ferocious outburst, Cid echoed in amazement, _"The heck? _Kidnap buddy?"

Urgently, Axel threw a look over his shoulder, desperately explaining, "My friend – he's sick. He doesn't – " He gave a winded grunt as one of Roxas' bare knees connected with the side of his ribcage, the sentence dying in his throat, and in the next breath responded by viciously crushing Roxas' wrists, the blond shouting, _"OW! _That _hurts!" _

"He doesn't realise what he's doing," Axel finished, face contorted menacingly as it hung above the boy's, the words growling from his chest while he shoved Roxas down hard against the seat, pinning him, all his limbs trapped beneath the redhead's weight and strength. As the blond gasped for air, he lowered his voice, snapping quietly, "Roxas, what are you _babbling _around? I didn't _drug _you. You met Cid in the parking lot, _remember? _He's our ride, for Christ's sake!" He grabbed Roxas' chin with the free fingers of one hand, steadying his face forcefully, making him meet his gaze with growing consternation. "What's _wrong _with you? You can'thave forgotten!"

"I can tell you what I remember," Roxas said wildly, angrily, "and that's _last night, _the way you tried to –"

Axel's hands jumped, remaining in place on the boy but his shock registering physically, quickly cutting him off, asking, "What about this morning?"

"There _was _no this morning! I was unconscious this whole time, since _then!"_

The redhead stared, even Roxas himself hesitating in that moment, as though realising that what he was saying wasn't adding up in the man's mind. "That doesn't make sense," Axel edgily told him. "Roxas, of course there was a this morning. You were there; you bought flip-flops."

Roxas echoed in disbelieving bewilderment, _"Flip-flops! _What the hell are you –?" Axel cut him off, jerked him up by the hair, seizing the back of his head in one hand and shoving it down so that he could see his feet. It took a few seconds for the boy to recognise what he was supposed to be focusing on, at which point his eyebrows rose. "You got me –?"

"_You _chose them," the man said heatedly. Over on his side of the car, Cid was torn between avid staring and glances at the road, the SUV swaying from side to side. His tone sobering, coming away from its angry edge, Axel went on, "Don't tell me you don't remember, Roxas. You were there the whole time. You don't really think you were asleep all morning, do you?" There was a long pause, Axel studying him closely. This was more than disorientation. He might have attributed it, at a pinch, to Roxas having maybe… fallen asleep _in _the car, and waking up confused, but the thing was, he was pretty sure the kid had been conscious this entire time. He'd been watching him. He hadn't noticed Roxas even looking sleepy, let alone dozing off… and then, virtually from one instant to the next… it had become like this. He lowered his voice intently. "Roxas, listen to me. Just calm down for a second and think it all through. You _do _know where you've been today, you've just…" He trailed off in his attempt to find a way to finish the sentence with some viable excuse. He was – he was _trying, _but he couldn't think of anything sane and rational; nothing that wouldn't call the blond's state of mind into question. After a hanging moment, he instead turned to their driver, grimly apologetic. "I'm – sorry, sir. He isn't dangerous, he's just… sick."

Casting him a sceptical, sideways look, Cid commented through his toothpicks, "No kiddin'."

Slowly, the boy began to shake his head. "…No," he muttered, eyes darting about the interior of the car, out the window, correcting Axel's previous statement like he hadn't heard the aside, "I _don't _know. You're lying to me." He looked to be thinking hard, before leaning forward in his seat with a frown, studying Cid in silence. Axel tensed at the look on his face. It dawned on him slowly that – this was the first time that Roxas had been near another person properly, not to mention that it was someone who seemed more than capable of handling himself in a fight. He wasn't handcuffed, and Axel was weighed down by the big black duffel – this might be his one and only chance to actually change their situation to his advantage. He hadn't shown signs of it earlier in the day, but now that he was claiming no memory of that far-off time, all its threats and assurances included…

Sure enough, something shifted in Roxas' expression, blue eyes narrowing, voice sharply determined as he started, "Hey – mister. Mister, you've got to listen to me –" Axel moved without thinking, wrapping his free arm back around the boy and sinking his fingers into his side with every ounce of strength he could muster. Roxas gasped, faltered, the words dying in his throat. He grunted faintly, face pale, Axel's features belying his actions with a calm, level expression.

Cid, although watching, didn't notice the exchange, seeing only that Roxas was looking fainter than he had a second ago. Brows coming together, he asked after a moment, "Yeah, what, kid?"

"…Was I awake when I got into your car?" He managed to choke it out sounding semi-normal; however, the tone of his voice, abruptly dimmer, had little to do with the pain he was feeling, Axel could tell. Roxas had been planning something rash, and changed his mind at the last moment, the warning savagely delivered. Obviously, having him undergo a shock of any kind was enough to erase his every ounce of sense; the man would need to be careful of that in future. But… how could he be _careful _of it if he didn't even know when he was supposed to be expecting it? He looked down uneasily at the boy, who gazed straight ahead with lips pressed thin. How could Roxas not know whether he'd been asleep or awake the entire morning? Was he wondering that himself, inside his own confusion?

"…Yeah, kid." Cid's voice was wary, gruff, eyes now staying on the road. "You were awake. Told me the two of you have been having 'a lot of a lot of fun' when you got into the car." Roxas' face could not have been blanker in incomprehension. Axel felt a stab in his chest, a sickening mixture of different sharp feelings all vying for attention, the dominant of which could only be fear. Cid continued in afterthought, "And you asked me about the deadline I've got coming up."

Roxas said nothing for a minute, before asking quietly, "…What kind of deadline?"

Cid threw over an incredulous look, his wonder painfully apparent. He didn't answer, instead focusing on his driving, forehead sporting a crease down the middle. Roxas was silent for a while, Axel's grip on him loosening, his heart tight as he considered the reality of what the hell was going on.

Roxas evidently _actually _had no memories of the morning. As far as he was concerned, after falling asleep during the night, nothing had happened that he was aware of until the last couple of minutes, at which point he'd freaked angrily over the thought of having been drugged. He'd honestly thought Axel had done something to him… and who could blame him? The redhead swallowed as he realised that Roxas' last coherent memory of him had to be from their struggle the previous night. As far as Roxas knew… Axel had sexually assaulted him, forced him to sleep handcuffed to his side, and then somehow the next time he'd become conscious of the world around him, it had been in a foreign car being driven across the Wastelands with the sun high in the sky. But – how in the hell was that _possible? _They'd held full conversations, Roxas had been eating candy bars and sloshing alongside Axel through the rainfall, had bought flip-flops, and…

…had acted strangely the entire time; just ever so slightly out of character. Maybe it was nothing anyone else might notice, but to Axel, who knew Roxas' every thought and breath so intimately that he virtually sensed them before they occurred, a fact which the blond had yet to fully comprehend, it had been like a part of Roxas' personality had been transplanted for a while. At the time, he'd just figured Roxas was acting out after the events of the night, was trying to make life difficult with his own special passive-aggressive brand of revolt… but now it was all suddenly put into a new perspective, the culmination of which was: if Roxas hadn't been aware of anything going on around him, then who the hell had Axel been talking to? Had Roxas suffered a shutdown of memories a few minutes ago, in which the morning had been spontaneously erased, or had he really not _been _there? The kid had already demonstrated that he was more than capable of rewriting his mind – the new Roxas was nobody that the old Roxas would have even looked at. So if that was the case, who the fuck had Axel been talking to, that slightly more confident, less aggressive yet somehow abrasive personality the blond had adopted throughout daylight's first hours? What section of his bleeding mind had manifested it? Was this – yet another version of Roxas being contrived right in front of him, piece by piece?

God damn everything, he wasn't equipped to deal with this sort of thing. He took his head in his hands, Cid glancing over as Axel gazed through the break in his fingers, staring at the floor and wondering just what on earth he was supposed to do next.

They stopped at nightfall to get something to eat, Cid buying a newspaper and taking himself off into a corner of the bright truck-stop diner, the signifier of the approaching crust of the Wastelands, just a few more hours' drive away. Axel, left with Roxas, found the two of them a booth next to a darkened window, handing one of the laminated menus to the blond, who opened it without a word and gazed unseeingly at the listed items. There was a glassiness to his blue eyes, a slowness of motion that denoted heavy exhaustion weighing him down. Axel was unsurprised, and longed with every fibre of his being to be able to wipe some of that devouring fatigue away from the boy's bones. Roxas had barely spoken a word since the fracas in the SUV, since Cid had confirmed Axel's story.

Axel… didn't know whether to let his anxiety increase or not. On the one hand, Roxas acting oddly was something he was familiar with, a personality trait, or perhaps absence, that was as recognisable as the smell of cut grass. It soothed him, somewhere inside, to see that Roxas was just as messed up as ever – it meant that nothing had changed, on a deep level. But on the other hand, Roxas… was sick. Axel knew he was sick, had known it for a long time, even when the blond been pretending he was some innocent and well-adjusted kid from sleepy, sunny little Twilight Town; and as much as a mentally unstable Roxas was like coming home to Axel, it was that sickness that they'd been battling so hard in the months before the boy had vanished. All those visits to Naminé, all the prescription drugs, and the fear – the relentless, oppressive fear that the Organisation would write Roxas off as too great a liability, the volatility that had worked so well for them in the past becoming too much a risk as it persisted, that they would just order him dead.

In that final regard, little had changed.

There was only so long that they could keep dodging the Organisation before someone caught up with them, especially now that they were moving around together, with Roxas an involuntary part of this couple. Axel had taken him out of a desire to keep him safe… but now that he had him, he was discovering more and more that despite his obsessive hunting and planning, all the fundamentals had stayed the same, that it had all merely been for the _acquisition _of Roxas. Because honestly, what the hell sort of strategy was driving around and staying at motels?When Roxas had acted normally, that had been fine, it had fired up the redhead's re-education zeal, that burn to make the boy remember who and what he was – but when that behaviour became erratic, not just in the way it had once been but erratic for this _Twilight Town_ version of Roxas… how could he possibly keep going this way? He had imagined, in his own delusional little world, that simply getting Roxas back would make everything okay again, that he could reprogram the kid back to what passed for normal before the Organisation tracked them down, and present him to them with the hurried promise that Roxas wasn't going to cause them any trouble. 'See? He's fine, he's Roxas, he's still part of the Organisation, _you don't need to kill him.' _

But it seemed like he wasn't going to have the time to make that go according to plan. Long before the Organisation came to get them, Roxas might have already lost his mind, or worse, disappeared again. Axel had allowed himself to be seduced by the 'Twilight Town' Roxas into believing that the sanity he exuded was something real, and that the only thing needing fixing was his memories and personality.

Idiot.

This latest mental hiccup was nothing particularly big or bad, a loss of memories was on par with Roxas' track record to date after all, but Axel knew from experience that he had been given a glimpse of the mere tip of the iceberg. It didn't seem like much on the major scale, but in the end it was – a loose thread. If held onto, Axel knew he would be able to follow it into a darker, more fractured part of Roxas' mind, and then deeper still into chaotic turbulence. The Roxas that acted like a normal person was like the deceptively still surface of quicksand, and a single misstep would lead them both into unmitigated disaster. Now was… not the time to be trying to fool himself into thinking he could control this on his own. He couldn't keep making mistakes. Instead, it was time… to make a decision. Maybe a bad one; maybe a terrible one – but maybe also the only choice that Axel had available to him. He glanced over at Roxas, the blond running a hand through his hair with a scowl of weariness, determinedly not looking Axel's way, seeming for all the world like any other somewhat grumpy young man out for dinner. But there was a split in there, somewhere behind the skin and bone and eyes, and if Axel didn't take steps to seal it up, nobody would.

"…Hey." His voice was soft – like he was talking to a skittish animal, scared to spook it. Roxas didn't react, continued struggling to blearily read the menu, but the redhead couldn't help but notice a faint tightening at his jaw. "Roxas, I…" He wanted to apologise again for last night. Roxas, as he was now, had no recollection of the earlier one, and he felt that that was contributing at least in part to the current cold silence radiating from across the table. Of course it was, it had to be. But he was suddenly wary of just blurting it out, afraid that the response would be exactly the same as it had been in the morning – or, maybe worse, different.

"I think I'll just have the salad." Roxas was ignoring him, the waitress had arrived, she was writing down his order and turning to Axel, who had no appetite to speak of.

"…A glass of water, please. And an espresso." He would need the caffeine to stay awake until they reached Edge, he couldn't trust Roxas alone with Cid, who knew what whispered conversations might take place over his bowed head? When they found some place to sit down and think this all through, that would be when he would have the chance to rest.

Everything was going to be okay. Axel was going to make it so. It just – it had to be.

Although he hadn't meant to, Roxas slept for most of the rest of the journey. He didn't know where exactly they were, didn't know where they were headed, and that anxiety should have kept him awake, but – his body, it felt like it was going to crumble from under him. He had been so tired during dinner, barely able to keep his head up, or the salad down. His mind was telling him he had been asleep for half the day, that this shouldn't be happening, but… apparently, that was incorrect.

With a cool wind rushing against him, the SUV's windows all down to get rid of all the accumulated heat and tension of the day's traverses, he couldn't have stopped himself falling asleep even if he'd stuck his eyelids open with matchsticks. For a while, he had dreamless nothing – no thoughts, no concerns, not a single, lingering doubt.

When he did wake, it was to Axel's face hovering over him, pale light reflecting off the man's skin in an artificial way, the air actually a little bit cold for once. Roxas inhaled and smelled car exhaust, noticing at the same time that the SUV was no longer rumbling and vibrating. He could hear traffic noises quietly in the distance – some screeching of tires, the honk of a horn, the persistent alarm of a railway track boom warning of impending trains. His eyes blinked out of sync, feeling gummy, grainy, and in the next second Roxas sucked in a hard, wet breath, struggling to sit as everything from the last several days slammed back into place. Rubbing his knuckles across his face, glancing around and finding himself still in the car, he forced himself more alert, rasping tensely, "Where are we? What's happening? What – time is it?"

Axel, he noticed, was standing back a bit – already out of the car, the man had been leaning over him, but far enough away so as to not startle and cause chaos. Even as he asked, Roxas noticed that his voice sounded jarringly loud in only the way a voice can in the dimmest hours of a new morning. Nearby, crickets were rattling out their shrill song.

Axel spoke in a cautiously low tone, straightening, stepping away. "We're there. Edge. It's four a.m., Rox. Roxas." There was a pause, after which the redhead started to ask, "Do you remember - ?"

"I'm fine," Roxas interrupted curtly, pushing the hair from his face, blinking hard several times as he came fully awake, looking hard past the man's shoulder to try and identify where he was. "What is this place?"

Axel, his hands in his pockets, turned around to gaze at their surroundings, a dull expression in place as he twisted back. "It's a motel, Cid's dropping us here. He's gone to book us in, I said I didn't want to just leave you here." He gave a small, thin-lipped smile which dropped away in a heartbeat. "Maybe you're frustrated, I don't know, but this'll probably be our last motel for a while, so just enjoy the cardboard-style sheets while you can. I'm thinking of finding us a bolt hole. What do you think?"

Roxas looked at him with bewilderment. "What do I – what do _I _think?" Anger flashed across his features, Axel observing it flatly. The blond pushed himself out of the truck, onto the pavement, flip-flops snapping against his heels as he landed. Axel continued to watch him, lazy body language tightening slightly. His eyes narrowed, but he made no immediate move to restrain the boy – Roxas figured it was just that bit harder to completely trap and control him when at any minute the guy Cid could appear and catch him at it. Then again, Cid had obviously thought Roxas was out of his mind – he'd probably believe anything Axel told him now, would probably believe it was all for his own good.

In a low, heated voice, Roxas demanded, "What does it matter what I think? You're going to do whatever the hell you want anyway. What I _think _is what I've always thought – that you're a psychotic kidnapper who needs to let me _go. _I want to go _home, _damn it. Don't you _dare _ask me what I think!"

Axel gazed at him for a moment longer, before letting out a sigh, lifting his shoulders minutely. "Sorry. My mistake. In that case – we're going elsewhere after this. Get used to it. There, does that make you feel better?"

Roxas hissed, _"Go to hell." _

In the midst of this, Cid returned, his heavy, crunching steps breaking through the tension as he came stumping over from the direction of a small, brightly-lit building. Roxas dragged a hand through his hair, the other on his hip as he twisted and glared around at their surroundings, observing that yes, this was another motel, so much like the others. He moved away from Axel, leaning against the car with his arms tightly knotted, not knowing whether to try and run for it, or alert Cid, or what the hell to do. Axel had already made his point – painfully – clear, reminding the blond that there weren't many lengths he wouldn't go to to keep him around. He could feel the fingertip-shaped bruises on his hip every time he shifted, had pulled up his shirt in the bathroom at the diner to inspect the damage and winced at the sight of it. He didn't want – to put this guy in danger. But at the same time, neither did he want this to continue. The longer he remained with Axel, the less likely it seemed that he would _ever _break away.

Cid didn't glance at Roxas as he reached them, instead holding out a dangling keychain towards Axel, saying gruffly, "Got you kids a room, hope it's okay, it was the only two-person they had left." Roxas scowled as the redhead took the key with a clink of metal against the plastic accessory proclaiming the motel's name and the room number.

Smiling gratefully – that same, thin-lipped affair – Axel said, "We owe you a lot, thanks, Cid."

The man waved a dismissive hand, grunting, "You paid your share of the gas, that makes us even. Take care, kids." He went around to the other side of the SUV, opening the driver's side door and climbing in, Roxas jerking away from the cool metal with surprise and small amounts of panic – Cid was leaving? Already? Wasn't he staying here, too? He might have believed everything Axel had said, but he was still a nice enough guy, and the one person Roxas had thought could possibly make a difference, if they could have just managed to be alone together for five minutes, for _five fucking minutes – _

Axel's cold hand wound around Roxas' upper arm, drawing him out of the way as Cid started up the vehicle noisily. The boy opened his mouth, uttered breathlessly, "No – _wait!" _He surged forward, jolting in Axel's grip, the redhead muttering a curse and grabbing hold of him with both hands now, holding hard as he squirmed and tugged. Over Roxas' shoulder, he threw a tight, grim upward curving of lips and a sharp nod – and Cid, damn him to hell, who watched the entire thing happened, returned the nod with an identical expression, pulled out of the parking bay, threw a wave out the window – and drove the fuck away. Roxas shouted furiously, _"No! _God _damn it!" _continuing to struggle, hope existing as long as he could still see the SUV's taillights through the darkness. But then the orange indicator light flickered, Cid turned away, and they were gone. It happened so fast, Roxas could still hear the engine, could hear it accelerating through the night, growing distant. He went still in Axel's grasp, rigidly watching the space where the vehicle had been at the end of the parking lot, expression briefly cemented in place.

So, Cid was gone, then.

The emotions of the day came roaring up almost too suddenly to comprehend, all the rage and confusion and now this bitter disappointment turning themselves onto Axel in an instant. The boy twisted in his grasp and started attacking, wrenching, punching, kicking, losing his flip-flops in the process, and most infuriatingly of all, Axel didn't try to stop him. The man leaned back slightly, turning his face away to protect it from harm, and simply allowed the blond's apoplexy to find focus and wear itself out. He gave an occasional grunt, but otherwise didn't react, and this, more than anything, drove the absolute futility of it all home for Roxas with the piercing quality of a nail. He couldn't even fight his way out. He couldn't do anything to help himself. He bellowed, the sound echoing all the way up and down the motel property, _"What did you tell him?"_

Axel once again tightened his grip to the point of pain, Roxas silencing with a sharp breath. Their room key was digging straight into his wrist. "Voice down," the man quietly commanded. "People are sleeping." As if he actually cared about people being woken! "What I told him," Axel went on patiently, "is the truth. I told him everything about you while you were sleeping. I told him about all the medication, all the sessions with the psychiatrist, I even told him about how dangerous you can be."

Momentarily shocked, eyes wide, Roxas said, "Bullshit. What a load of bullshit, I can't believe he believed you."

"Why not?" the redhead asked expressionlessly. "Like I said, it was the truth."

Roxas started up again, angrily, "What the _hell _do you think –"

Axel's patience abruptly ran out, his hand clamping tight as he gave the boy a sharp, rattling shake while hissing, _"Shut up! _Jesus _Christ, _Roxas, what do you think happened this morning, when you were supposed to be awake but weren't?"

"I don't know, you tell me," the blond snarled back, breaths intermingling with the closeness of their contorted faces. "Maybe it was trauma from last night, maybe I blanked out because of what you _did."_

Axel's body jolted, his expression showing his desire to thrust Roxas away and smack him straight across the face just as he had when he'd started yelling in that first motel… but it passed, the man obviously swallowing the urge down like bitter medicine, instead giving short, sour nod, as though conceding the round. He released one of Roxas' arms, the key moving blessedly away, the tip having dug so far into his flesh that the skin had started to break. Using his free hand to scoop up their bags, Axel, without any further discussion, led the way over towards their room, yanking the blond along with him.

"Hey – my flip-flops!" Roxas pulled back hard, looking over his shoulder at the red foam he'd left behind on the bitumen. Axel didn't stop, nearly dragged him over onto his knees, ignoring his protest and simply continuing on until he reached their room and unlocked it, swinging Roxas forward and pushing him into the darkness. Before the boy could let out a noise of any kind, Axel's hand snaked up onto the wall, flicked the light switch, letting the dull wattage flood the room. Dropping the plastic and duffel bags into the corner by the door, the man planted a hand in the middle of Roxas' back, resumed pushing him, the boy stumbling over his own feet as he moved against his will until he knocked into the bed, a familiar sensation by now, Axel bringing out the instantly recognisable handcuffs and clicking one around one wrist, the one that got cut by the key, while snapping the other around the metal frame of the bed. Still without speaking, he then turned, marched back towards the door, and slammed it behind him as he exited into the night.

Roxas was left feeling distinctly windswept, sprawled half on the bed, half hanging off it, knees bent awkwardly down towards the ground. Silence beat a pulsing rhythm in his head as he wondered where the man had got to, but almost immediately, within thirty seconds of having left, Axel once again returned, carrying the flip-flops in one hand. Before Roxas could comment, he threw them across the room ungraciously. "Here." They hit the boy before falling to the floor, Roxas flinching away slightly before glaring over at him. Axel eyed him as he crossed the room to open the door to look into the small bathroom. "No thank you? No gratitude at all? I should've left them out there."

"_You're_ the reason –" Roxas, starting off loud, cut himself off sharply, biting his lower lip. Axel paused in the doorway as the halogen lights flickered on above the toilet and glanced back, an eyebrow raised enquiringly. But the blond said nothing further – how could he possibly accuse the redhead of being the cause of his losing his flip-flops, like it was some big event? Axel was the root of _everything _terrible; some cheap, red foam getting kicked off shouldn't have even registered as an offense. Instead, the boy closed his eyes, trying not to see, again and again like some repeating movie reel, the moments in which Cid had driven away. His one big chance, his one _possibility _of a chance – gone before he even had the time to breathe life into it.

Axel. It was all Axel's fault. What – what the _hell _were they doing here? What did he think he was _doing? _Kidnapping, wild stories, assaulting Roxas on a regular basis…

A flashing whiff of cigarette smoke invaded the boy's nostrils, blue eyes flashing open to find green gazing steadily back. Axel looked grimy, layered with old sweat and fatigue, his pores visible and rough at this proximity – and he was _close, _crouched right in front of him, their knees nearly knocking_. _Roxas jerked back against the bed, handcuffs rattling, Axel inhaling through his nose and planting a hand on either side of the blond on the mattress' edge… but only to use to lever himself up onto his feet again.

"It's fine, don't wet yourself." The redhead's voice was dull, coolly detached. "I was just checking you were still with me." He stared down at the boy from under hooded lids, quiet for a long minute, their positions once again horrendously unbalanced in Axel's favour in terms of body language and vulnerability – the man standing right over him, his knees now level with Roxas' face. The blond forced himself to crane his neck and keep a lock on his eyes, refusing to glance away, pouring every ounce of his burning resentment into his pupils to go like laser beams up into the other. Axel, unaffected, said, "So you were really planning on using him somehow, huh? Even though you could have killed him."

"The only person to make the decision to kill would be _you," _Roxas quietly responded. "Even if I told him everything, if I dragged him into it – it would have been your decision to kill him, not mine."

Axel tilted his head to one side, studying the boy through narrowed eyes. "…Jeeze, Roxas. You say that like you've never killed a guy before." At that moment, Roxas would have been hard-pressed to believe that there was any love or even lust in the redhead towards him – a second of pure dislike spiked through Axel's features, inspiring a reverberating thump in Roxas' chest; it was an unnerving experience, to have such a look directed his way, delivered by someone so obviously amoral.

Collecting himself, drawing a deep breath, the boy evenly replied, "I never have. Obviously, you're confusing me with someone else."

Axel curled a lip. "Oh, that's right. You're a cute little Twilight Town kid, aren't you? Just like the ones in the photograph." As though reminded of it, from one hip pocket he pulled the picture out, the picture Roxas had all but forgotten about. There was a flash of Hayner, Pence and Olette in his field of vision, Roxas half-rising before the redhead flicked it up and away, taunting him.

Roxas' eyes went cold. "…You're a real bastard, you know that?"

The 'real bastard' just smiled, walking slowly around Roxas, giving him a wide berth, and going around to the other side of the bed, which the blond now noticed was a single – there was another single bed on the other side of it, and a nightstand between the two with a lamp and telephone sitting on it. He felt a burst of pure, distracted relief – he wasn't going to have to share another bed with Axel, not this time. The mattresses were small, they couldn't both fit on one even if they twisted every limb together. Cid might have ended up disappointing Roxas, but at least he'd left a parting gift.

Axel stopped at the nightstand, its single drawer sporting a brass keyhole with the key poking out of it. Opening it up, he first slid the photograph inside, then, after briefly inspecting the telephone, unplugging the cord and putting the clunky instrument in on top of it. Deliberately meeting the boy's blue eyes, he slid it shut again, locking it with an audible click, pulling free the key and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans. "They can stay safe in here for a while. Your little friends." Roxas bit down on his tongue, the handcuffs rattling as he picked himself up from his awkward position and climbed more securely up onto the bed, legs crossing, knees lifting defensively. Axel watched with alert eyes, but when the boy did nothing more than settle carefully against the metal bars, he at last relaxed a little. "Well, then." He sounded less challenging this time, more like his usual self, whatever passed for normal with this man. "Are you hungry at all? I still have some of those sea-salt bars."

Roxas' gaze flickered, an element of interest entering his eyes before he could halt it. He thought about his stomach, and found that perhaps a salad wasn't enough to sustain a person in the middle of an elongated abduction. Axel noticed the pause, smiled faintly. Drawing a breath, the boy shortly nodded, and, nodding in response, Axel went over to where the bags had been dropped and dug out a couple of candy bars. Bringing them over to the captive on the bed, he said, "Don't worry about trying to share this time, okay?"

"Share?" Roxas shot him a hard look.

Axel stopped as he dropped them into the blond's lap, thinking for a moment before muttering, "Of course, forget it. You thought you were asleep. You don't remember."

"Forget remembering." Roxas picked up the first bar, tore off the top half of the wrapper with sudden hunger. "I don't share these things, is all." He took a sharp bite, jaws working as he chewed, scowling across the room and deliberately not looking at the man beside the bed – he didn't want Axel to know he was actually pleased about the sea-salt bars. On top of that… he didn't want to know how Axel knew to buy them for him. It was a thought that didn't exist – it was forbidden from his mind.

He didn't see how Axel stared down at him, didn't notice the slight widening of his eyes, lowering of his brows. A long moment later, the redhead stepped away from the bed. Moving across the room, he picked up the black duffel bag, slowly carried it into the small bathroom. As the sound of the shower running suddenly sprang into being, Roxas froze, lips parted with a smear of chocolate, heart locked in place in his chest. His head swung around before he could stop himself, fear cold in his eyes as he gazed over to where Axel stood in the bathroom's doorway, watching the boy. At the sight of his reaction, the man gave a bitter quirk of his lips. "I'll be showering now." He made no reference to Roxas also needing to shower, mentioned nothing of their last encounter alone in a motel room with naked involvement. "Be good," was all he tacked on, before closing the door, blocking out a portion of the noise and the steam.

Carefully, Roxas waited, listening to make sure the redhead was in fact climbing in. He heard the slight change of sound between water beating against tiles and being broken by a body, and swallowed a lump of chocolate, heart fluttering hard now. _Three minutes. _Head swivelling, he stared over at the nightstand, the keyhole of the drawer glinting. Three minutes was all that felt safe. Axel might have deprived him of his opportunity to alert Cid, but hadn't realised what the close chance and the day's events had ignited within the blond. Simply sitting and obeying was no longer good enough. Being good would have to return to being a farce, rather than a tactic.

Come hell or high water, Roxas was getting hold of the phone in that drawer. He groped around for a moment, wiping his mouth with one wrist and abandoning his candy bar, legs swinging over onto the floor on the other side of the bed. Handcuffed arm stretching to full length, he crouched down at an angle, briefly inspecting the keyhole. The whisper came from deep inside, like another person speaking: "I can deal with this." It was a dummy lock, the sort that could have been jimmied open with a pair of toothpicks, the likes of which Cid had had in excess but hadn't thought to share with his hitch-hikers. That was all okay, though, because Axel, in his weariness, hadn't noticed Roxas pocketing the fork from his salad at the diner. It had been a blank moment of instinct, the sort he had succumbed to without a second thought. Slowly, grand plans had formed, thoughts of stabbing the red-haired man playing violently through his head, little realising its more practical potential. The time for jamming fork tines into the soft, giving parts of Axel's body would come when it came, he would need to control himself and choose his moment carefully.

For now, it would get him access to the one thing he had been denied all along: the chance to cry for help.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: **Good morning, there – my first update of the new year, luckily within the first month and hopefully at a more regular pace than in the past. Last year was quite the shocker for me, as anyone who reads my dA journals might know, which really prevented me from giving my all to any writing whatsoever. However, a new year brings new changes, and I have a firm hope that everything's going to be much better and more PRODUCTIVE in 2011 than it ever was in 2010 :) Good luck with picking this one back up, lovelies, it's been a long time since the last chapter, I know. When the author has to re-read it to refresh her memory, what hope do the readers have? Eheh! Despite that, I hope you all like it :) Happy New Year, guys.

-o-

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Roxas' heart was thumping like crazy. The shower continued to run in the background, Axel for the moment occupied, and, determined to create an advantagefor once, he wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste.

The handcuffs rattled as he leaned forward, feet digging into the thin carpet. Roxas was briefly able to see his reflection in the stolen fork in his hand, gazing down at it in consternation, because there was absolutely no guarantee that this was going to work. The problem was, if he didn't start fighting back now – or if he saw the chance and consciously let it pass him by without trying anything – he had a sneaking suspicion that he never would again. He had to at least _try. _

Drawing a deep, bracing breath, not allowing for an instant of second thought, he lowered the fork, lined it up, and slid it into the nightstand's flimsy lock. It scraped as it entered, the blond frowning deeply as he carefully pressed it deeper, only two of the tines managing to fit but hopefully two were enough. If there was any sliver of luck on his side, this would work. He wriggled the fork, feeling for the lock's release, sweaty hand readjusting around the metal every now and again to try it at different angles. He listened for the shower so hard that it felt like his ears were doubling in size to meet demand, every drop of water that fell in the bathroom hitting Roxas' nerves like electric beads of perspiration. For a moment, he started to panic, feeling time slipping away with no progress to speak of, but then a lower, grinding sound came from the keyhole, and in the next moment the poorly constructed lock gave way with a sharp _click. _

Hitching in a breath, Roxas hurriedly put the fork aside, shoving it under the pillow of his tiny single bed, his cuffed right hand clinking against the metal bars as it automatically tried to jerk forwards and help. Grunting in frustration, he instead used his left, grabbing the drawer's handle and yanking it open, the ball bearings stiff against the track. There, like his own personal Holy Grail, sat the telephone, his fingers shaking as he reached for it, dragging it out with minimal noise, placing it on his lap and staring at it. God, it was beautiful; he could've gazed all night. Instead, swallowing nervously, he slid it onto the nightstand and bent down, groping blindly at the ground for the end of the cord, knowing it was down there somewhere. Cheek pressed against the hard wooden corner, he clenched his jaw and searched by touch, fingertips dancing across it several seconds later, fumbling for a moment and then snatching it up.

Sitting up with a breath, he yanked it over the back of the nightstand, turning it in his fingers so that it was the right way up and then inserting it into the phone again, returning it to its home. Now, if only the same could be said for him. Listening one last time for signs of Axel finishing his shower, finding none so far – he had looked and smelled like he had about seven independent layers of sweat glued to his skin, Roxas had to admit – the blond grated his teeth hard together once, sprang them apart, and, cautious now, picked up the receiver.

It felt heavy in his hand, almost unnaturally so, like it was holding the weight of all his hopes and expectations. It was cool against his anxiety-dampened palm; he had to struggle to keep his wits about him at this crucial point. With the same hand, he dialled, index finger hesitant to begin with but building up momentum, the low click of the old-fashioned number pad stuttering along until there was nothing left to press. With heart beating faster, louder than ever, Roxas, exhaling sharply, quickly brought the earpiece up and pressed it hard to the side of his head. At the sound of the other line ringing in his ear, he felt faint, head getting lighter by the minute. It continued for several seconds, skin crawling as he listened, small tremors quaking his muscles sporadically.

Then, so familiar and distant it took his breath away, _"Hello?"_

"…Hayner." His eyes slid shut at the sound of that voice, the shakes becoming more pronounced, teeth chattering slightly. There was a long pause, then an explosion of air across the receiver, Hayner nearly choking his name at the other end.

"_Roxas! _Roxas, oh, my God – "

Although it pained him to have to do so, Roxas cut him off, ever mindful of the seconds ticking down. Voice an urgent mutter, he said, "Stop, there's no time. Hayner, you have to listen to me, and listen _hard _because this is only going to come once: I'm at the other side of the wastelands, a place called Edge, but not for long – he took me, his name is Axel, he's goddamn terrifying and out of his _mind…"_

"Roxas, _what? _Where the _hell _are you?" Hayner sounded angry, the tone vibrating down the phone, reminding Roxas so clearly of the other blond in a rage – but there was something else in there, too. Something desperate, something hurt and plain old bewildered. "There was that _fire, _and then you were just _gone, _and just yesterday the cops told us that someone called telling them you'd gone home! You went back to your family, but you couldn't tell us? You left us without a word, and we were scared _sick _for you, and then it turns out you're completely fine? What the hell is wrong with you? Why didn't you _tell _us,Roxas? What's going _on?"_

Deep down, a layer of ice started spreading through Roxas' insides. "What did you say? The police told you that?"

"_Yes, _Roxas, they did, and I don't _understand." _Hayner hitched in a breath on the other end. "Why would you do something like this? For all your faults – this just wasn't like you."

Roxas was silent, even though every moment counted, even though Hayner had already taken up time saying his piece despite being told not to. His mind had reached a block – it couldn't get beyond what Hayner had just now said. Couldn't get over the fact that Axel… had been telling the truth. Axel had told him that someone would call claiming to be his family, throwing everyone off the scent. And now they had.

Roxas stared blankly ahead, brain grinding as it attempted to process this, delving through everything that Axel had told him, every awful thing he claimed was true and the fact that he'd been _right _about this _– _and then the pain hit. Terrible, stabbing pain that struck straight through his skull, like his ears would bleed from it, his eyes just about vibrating in their sockets from it. He gasped hard enough to choke, eyelashes fluttering rapidly, the phone almost dropping from his hand. A strangled noise escaped his throat, the agony searing across his forehead and back into his retinas, blinding, muting, deafening. He was losing himself, the world taking on a white mist at its edges, a dull roar filling his ears, he could hear every drop of blood coursing his veins like locomotives. Distantly, the last he heard of Hayner was, _"Roxas? Roxas, answer me if you're there. Roxas?" _

Knowing how vital it was to finish this, Roxas hung up with a clatter, yanked the phone cord free and dropped it, fighting the pain for just these brief few, self-protecting moments, long enough to return it to the drawer, slide it shut, unable to lock it again but recognising that there was nothing more than he could do. With anyamount of long overdue good fortune, Axel wouldn't think to check. Who knew? Roxas didn't even care anymore. Didn't care about Axel, or Hayner, or anything in all of existence except that his head was disintegrating in on itself, this was _death, _slow and deliberate. Roxas twisted on the bed, crushing his head between his hands, chuffing short breaths through clenched teeth, eyes squeezed shut. Consciousness flickered, dimmed, died out, and when it flared back into full blossom, the one to open his eyes was Sora.

He lay perfectly still for a moment, slowly examining what was visible of the room. Nothing moved. There was an unnatural silence hanging in the air, as though the world had gone from screaming at the top of its lungs to mute in the space of a heartbeat, its voice still ringing between the walls. He was alone; that was unusual. But then he noticed discomfort, shifted to allay it, and the clink of metal bindings brought the situation into sharp relief. A moment later, a white door swung open, and Axel stepped into view in damp jeans with a towel draped over his shoulders, Sora jumping at the suddenness of the appearance. He had obviously been in the bathroom – they were in another motel, Roxas was chained to the bed, and Axel had been taking a shower. The redhead looked tense, green eyes slicing over to the boy on the bed, narrowing slightly at the blue eyes staring back from within a pale, quiet face as though mildly surprised to find that he was still exactly where he'd left him. Kind of hard not to be when you were locked up, though.

Sora smiled thinly, tugging at the cuffs with a small clatter. "Handcuffs again, huh? You really have a kink for that whole BDSM mojo, don't you?"

Axel paused, blinked and turned towards him, hips canting to the side as he did so. Head cocking, the redhead's eyes grazed his prone form, darkening slightly, Sora feeling a faint clutch of tension at the expression within them.

"…Maybe."

Slowly, the man started towards him, a familiar, predatory grace to his movements. Sora lifted his knees carefully, Axel nearing the bed in a circling fashion, fingers kneading the soft fabric of the towel, the hem of his jeans dampening with the water that continued to trickle down his chest from his hair. For a stretching moment, their eyes met, silence beating in the room, before something electric sparked in Axel's gaze, the man leaning down and gripping his shoulders, massaging them, one knee pushing down the mattress at his hip as he growled with desire in his voice, "That depends on what you rememb-"

Sora rocked his lower body and drove a heel straight up into his throat. Axel gagged, releasing and reeling back, letting loose a strangled noise of pain and outrage as he staggered across the room. By the time he'd recovered, there was murder in his eyes. As he came stalking back towards the bed, hands in angry fists, Sora yelped, grabbed a fistful of blankets and yanked them up over his head, crying, "Self-defence! I call self-defence, you were fully perving on me then, I was _well _within my rights, and you totally can't get mad!"

Axel ripped them off, flung them away, snarled down at him, "Oh yeah? Or _what?" _

Sora floundered. "Or I'll… kick you again. I'll do it, I have heels of fury, you know!" He swung his feet threateningly, bony ankles tracing circles in the air, the gesture pathetic but obviously working _some _kind of magic, because Axel stared at him, stared at his feet, and after a moment withdrew. He backed off several steps, hands returning to the towel around his neck, expression flickering but shielded mostly from view behind a watchful mask. The lust died from his eyes, which gradually flattened the longer he observed the blond's mussed hair and defensive position on the bed.

"…I'm guessing you won't be wanting a shower now, anymore."

Sora looked at him closely, thought about it, answered carefully, "I'm fine where I am."

Axel inclined his head an inch, his whole mood now turned completely on its head, a darkness following him as this time he moved right around the bed, avoiding it like there was a force-field between the two of them. He went to the duffle bag, zipped it open and pulled out a tee-shirt, tugging it over his slender frame, hesitating slightly halfway through the act to mutter audibly, _"Heels of fury…" _He pulled the hem down, threw his gaze over to Sora, the boy watching him from behind the stretched and slightly twisted arm of the handcuffed hand, not flinching away as expected when their eyes met but holding the look with something… indistinguishable in his half-hidden face. "Roxas –" He stopped.

"Yes?"

Axel looked like there was something he very much wanted to mention, or perhaps ask – but he evidently changed his mind partway through the thought, simply saying, "Never mind."

Sora returned to watching quietly, the man dropping his bag down on the floor, kicking it over to the far side of his bed, way out of reach. It was a shame; Sora was pretty sure that Axel had a gun stowed away in that ever-present pack, and would have loved to get his hands around it and get out of here for once and for all, eliminating Axel at the same time. Cleaning up after himself, as it were. But certainly nothing was going to be as easy as all that – and that was okay. Sora was reconciled with at least that much.

Axel didn't climb into the other bed in the room, instead pulling half a bottle of whisky from the bag, closing it back up and retreating to the side of the room, seating himself in a faded armchair and uncapping the bottle. He took a long swallow, looking ready to settle where he was.

"You're not going to bed?" Sora asked, studying him. "Aren't you tired?"

Axel propped an elbow on the arm of the seat, rubbing his face with his hand, letting out a long sigh as he did so. "Roxas…" He stopped again, as though the million things he wanted to say were getting jammed in the doorway in their rush to all be said at once. He pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, supporting his head against it, taking another swig of whisky. When he did speak, his voice was heavy, rough around the edges with untold weariness and inner decay. "I am more tired than I know what to do with." Another mouthful, and no more words now. He had apparently said his piece, volunteering nothing further, instead choosing to turn his attention over towards the window, sinking broodingly into the chair and letting his gaze drift into the distance.

Sora let it go at that; there was nothing much to be said between them for the moment, anyway, and he wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon. They were here for the night.

He turned over, the clink of the handcuffs briefly splitting the quiet as he tried to find a comfortable position, the minutes ticking by at a gradual drip that made him wonder why he bothered staying conscious. Towards dawn, Axel fell asleep, Sora listening to his breaths take on a slower, gentler rhythm. He watched the sun rise against the wall, and wondered, for a short, lonely heartbeat, where Riku was, and what he might be doing. It was okay for Axel, he had his stalker fantasy in the palm of his hand, even Roxas at least had somebody who loved him, albeit psychotically… but Sora had nobody. Sora didn't even have the benefit of acknowledged existence, and that was the sort of thing that wore on a person after a while.

So, even though he wasn't crazy on sleep, on letting go of the reins when he had hold of them, Sora let himself fade away as the world got brighter and brighter in the motel room. It was rare, but for the moment, he had the sneaking suspicion that anywhere was better than here right now. Even if that meant darkness.

o-o

"Here. Eat."

A bowl was pushed in front of him on the bed, Roxas peering into it dubiously. "Tinned fruit?"

"Tinned peaches," Axel clarified, tersely adding, "Don't just sit there and study it, fucking eat. We've got a lot a ground to get covered and I want to get going."

Roxas had been prodded awake a few minutes ago, bleary-eyed and disorientated, half expecting to find that once again they were halfway to nowhere and would have to go through the whole freak-out business all over again. But no – still the motel, in exactly the same state as he had checked out in.

His memories of the night before were muzzy at best, a strange kind of interference buzzing through them like television static, until he reached towards the phone call to Hayner where they simply went blank. He didn't know what to do about this. He knew for a fact that he had got the phone out, had placed the call – he could still hear Hayner's voice in his head – but the subject matter was frustratingly elusive right now, and he had no idea, none whatsoever, whether or not he had achieved his goal, or been caught, or _what _had happened. His eyes ticked over to Axel, who had opened up another tin of peaches and was transferring them straight from the tin into his mouth with a plastic spoon, wandering from point to point through the room like he couldn't sit still. He wasn't _acting _like he'd discovered Roxas mid-call to Hayner. In fact, he was pretty sure that if he had, he'd have bound and gagged the blond and certainly wouldn't be treating him as benignly as he was. After a mental check, he also found that there was nothing sore on his body, like he'd been hit or held too tightly, which, after a hesitation, he concluded must all together mean that he had got away with it. Whatever else may have happened would just have to be consigned for now to the annals of mystery, leaving him to simply hope that everything would be okay.

Despite how little he'd been eating lately, Roxas found that he wasn't all that hungry. He managed half of his peaches before giving up, a curious light-headedness swamping him after having spent a while trying so hard to think beyond the block in his mind. His eyes hurt like he'd been staring too long at a computer screen. He pushed away the bowl, Axel glancing over, their eyes briefly meeting before Roxas reflexively looked away, uncomfortable with prolonged exposure to the burning green intensity that forever lurked within the other. The redhead put his tin to one side, picking up the tote bag and wordlessly rummaging through, before pulling out his first aid kit with its bandages and disinfectant, which could mean only one thing. Coming over to the bed, he sat on the mattress' edge, saying, "We need to –"

"I can do it," Roxas interrupted, hating the close proximity, remembering all too well how Axel got when he was touching him. Feeling the grime coating his body, he went on testily, "Besides, I could use a shower – if that won't interfere with how much _ground _you have to cover." Noticing Axel's gaze narrow, he said swiftly and sharply, "And I'll be locking the door, you're not coming in with me."

Axel's mouth half twitched into a smirk. "…Fine. Do what you want. But I'm not letting you off that easily." He left the medical kit with the blond, getting up and going over to the bag, drawing out, after a minute of searching, the handcuffs' key. Roxas eyed him warily as he came over, Axel looking amused with a cruel edge to his smile as he casually reached over the boy's head, chest level with his face, and unlocked the cuff from around the bed frame. "Relax," he drawled down to the blond, who had his face determinedly averted to the side, "I'm not doing anything shady." As he pulled back, he muttered, "For God's sake, don't kick my throat." He allowed Roxas to sit up properly, the boy grunting slightly, twisting the trunk of his body to stretch out a cramp in his back. When Roxas then held up his wrist to be released, Axel slid back a step, out of reach, and said, "Take off your shirt."

Roxas regarded him incredulously. "You're out of your mind."

"The irony of that notwithstanding, didn't I justtell you I'm not up to anything?" Axel glowered down at him. "You want to shower, fine. You want to shower alone? I can agree to that. But I'm not going to just let it go lying down, I am protecting an _investment _here, Roxas, and I really don't have time to screw around this morning, literally or figuratively." He lifted his hands, shrugged and admitted, "Hey, if we had all the time in the world, sure, I'd be doing the skeezy thing, it's what I do best when you're in a room." He let them drop back down to his sides, the handcuffs key glinting in the morning light from within his fingers, expression hardening. "But we don't, and I could really do without a morning of prima donna Roxas trying to claw my eyes out for damaged dignity. You take off your shirt, I cuff your hands back together, and then you go and shower with the door as locked as you want it. But for the minutes during which I can't keep my eyes permanently on you, I want a little peace of mind." He tilted his head, smiled sardonically. "Think you can handle that much, Princess?"

Roxas was tempted to tell him where to shove it – it was like a nervous tic when he was around this guy – but suppressed the urge, swallowed it down and nodded. Feeling supremely uneasy, he then proceeded to quickly strip off his shirt, not wanting to make a production out of it. God only knew Axel was already staring like it was a peep-show, he wanted to rob it of any imagination whatsoever. When he then instinctively held the shirt against his chest, covering up, Axel smirked. "That's just fine." He stepped back towards the blond, took the loose cuff and attached it to Roxas' other wrist, hauling him to his feet in the next moment, taking the shirt away and pressing the first aid kit into his hands in its place. "Just make sure to take care of that cut on your face, we need to be dressing it at least five times a day more than we are." He pushed the boy over towards the bathroom. Roxas stumbled and entered the small room, then turned and quickly shut the door as Axel started to come up behind him, locking it, listening to the pause on the other side followed by the man's muffled voice, "You have five minutes. Better yet, make it four. I don't trust you an inch, my sweetheart."

Roxas scowled at the door, turned his back on it and finished undressing, starting up the shower. He still wasn't comfortable getting naked with Axel _anywhere _in the vicinity, not after last time, but it felt better having a locked door between them – and, more than that, he was just desperate to get clean. He showered quickly, keeping the time limit in mind, not wanting to give Axel an excuse to bust his way in. Finishing up long before what was satisfactory, he dried off and climbed back into his underwear and shorts, scrubbing at his hair until it was flung in every direction, but dry. The handcuffs hadn't run much interference in the cleaning process, instead serving as a demoraliser more than anything. Every time he moved, he felt them. Every time he lifted his hands, he saw the light flash against them. And every time they were brought to his attention, he couldn't help but feel fear, a slow-growing lump of it in the pit of his stomach, because he didn't know when, or where, this was going to end. He couldn't even be sure whether or not his call to Hayner had been a success. Everything was uncertain.

He jumped as Axel knocked on the door, clutching the towel tightly a moment before the redhead's voice called, "That's enough. Unlock this, you can do your cut with the door open." Roxas caught sight of himself in the mirror, held the gaze of the strained and pale face he saw there, watched his reflection swallow with jaw tensed, then did as he was told and opened the door.

"I want my shirt," he muttered as the gap appeared, Axel taking the edge of the door and pushing it all the way open, smirking lopsidedly at the boy behind it, down at his bare chest, enjoying the view.

"I'm sure you do."

Roxas glared up at him. "Give it. Now."

Axel snorted a little, disappeared from the doorway and brought back a different shirt, tossing over a slightly rumpled black tee that Roxas recognised to be his own, the one that had got wet the previous night during the storm in the wastelands. Axel must have put it somewhere to dry out at some point, Roxas had never noticed, had forgotten all about it. Axel was leaning against the door frame, observing the click and whir of gears in Roxas' mind. He mentioned quietly, "I've got the bottoms, too, if you want them."

Roxas blinked up at him, almost confused for a moment by the benevolent tone in which it was said… then, expression darkening, he accused, "You want to see me strip that badly? Forget it. I'll wait until the next shower, and change by myself." He held out the handcuffs, Axel lifting his shoulders in a careless shrug that belied the sly look on his face and reached over with the key to unhinge them. With his wrists finally released, Roxas took a moment to gingerly touch the punished skin – he was beginning to form calluses where the metal had made a habit of rubbing – then pulled on his shirt, eager to hide his flesh from view. Axel had already turned away, returned to the rest of the room and resumed packing the last of their things. Roxas peered after him, noticing that everything looked about the same as it had when he'd entered the bathroom. Had Axel spent the whole time listening outside the door? For what? Sounds of Roxas showering, and imagining it in great, perverted detail – or sounds of attempted escape? …Knowing Axel, probably both. Opportunity and precaution, all rolled into one.

Returning to the mirror, Roxas opened up the first aid kit, taking out the items he had seen Axel use on the gash that he'd made on his face in Twilight Town. Whatever regret he claimed to feel at having left it there, Roxas didn't care, or buy it. He knew that if Axel thought it would keep him in place, he'd cover Roxas' body in gouges just like it. There was no trusting what that man said – not any of it.

He stopped as, for a moment, something pushed at his mind – trapped within a snare of the static of last night's memories – but upon reaching for it, he suffered a spike of pain intense enough to force his eyes shut. He withdrew sharply, leaving it alone, whatever it was. It – weakened him to even consider going after it, filled him with some shivering sensation of dread that he would rather not confront. Not yet, at least… Later, maybe.

The flicker within his mind died away as he concentrated instead on what his hands were doing, focusing on the mirror as he carefully touched his cheek with two fingers, preventing the skin from being pulled as he peeled the plaster from his face. Once again, he found himself facing the ugliness of the stitches marring his face, the reddened slice behind them, the way none of it looked natural. Grimacing, the boy got several alcohol wipes and set about disinfecting the site, flinching away from the stinging pain as he did so, biting down hard as this in turn inevitably tugged minutely at the imperfect stitches. Sucking in a fresh breath, he nonetheless persisted, knowing that, if nothing else, the least he could do for himself was take care of this one little thing. It was the only thing within his control _to _do.

To finish off, he applied a new plaster over the wound, smoothing its edges with his fingertips and inspecting his work in the reflection. It looked all right; a little crooked maybe, but workable. Frowning, he glanced away from the mirror, wondering who it was he was even looking at anymore. The longer he stayed with Axel, the more it seemed he was losing himself; he never would have thought he'd have been capable of letting himself be dominated and manipulated like this, living a life of fear in thrall to a tyrant, and not even do anything about it. He was learning to be Axel's victim, bit by bit being trained by the man to not make unnecessary sound, to not draw attention to himself, and yes, there were circumstances that dictated this behaviour… but still. Even when he'd tried, like with Cid, he hadn't tried hard enough. Cid probably would have been able to handle a guy like Axel… but Roxas had allowed that opportunity to slip by; no matter what Axel had told him, he should have been able to make Cid understand, or at least raise some suspicion. He hadn't, though, and he was beginning to lose sight of what it was that justified that sort of lapse.

"Roxas, what's taking you?"

His head came up, hands automatically springing to begin packing away the first aid kit. "…I'm nearly done," he called back, finishing up quickly, carrying it out and passing it to the redhead, who had come halfway around the bed to meet him. Axel stopped him, placed a knuckle under his chin and lifted his face to check out the job he'd done on it. "Not bad."

"It's _my _face," he grumbled. "It's not like I want it to stay this way."

Axel nodded slightly. "Maybe so. But if that's the case, why didn't you fix it up right after it happened? You had to wait for me to come along and start the healing process for you…" He hesitated, then let his hand stray to the side of Roxas' cheek, expression beginning to soften. The boy lifted his eyes, saw the look in those gazing back, and pulled back with a jerk, regarding the hand with suspicion, pushing the kit into it and then drawing back, putting some distance between them. Axel stood there looking blank for a moment, arm slowly lowering down to his side. "…You do need me," the man said, so quietly it was almost inaudible. "To take care of you."

"I take care of myself." Roxas retreated another step, hands balling into themselves, ready to start swinging if Axel tried anything further. He supposed he wasn't too far gone, after all, if he was still willing enough to fight hand to hand. It was just the mental stuff he had trouble with, with Axel. That was the biggest part of this war – the psychology that the man was so good at bending to his whim.

Axel, however, didn't act beyond that one touch. Maybe he was learning, too. Instead, he let out a slow breath, and merely replied, "We'll see." He didn't move from where he stood, but his hand, Roxas could see, tightened slightly around the medical kit.

Unsettled, the blond cleared his throat in the silence, asked, "Didn't you have some big deadline to keep to? Ground to cover, and all that? We should – we should get going, shouldn't we?"

Axel briefly closed his eyes, then inclined his head in agreement. "Sure." He picked up the duffel bag, slung it over his shoulder and went to the small table, hooking the plastic bags with their tinned goods over his wrist. "Don't forget your flip-flops."

Roxas nodded, brow creasing as he gave a nervous cough, said, "Yeah," and began looking around for them. They were beside the bed, where Axel had thrown them at him during the night. Roxas went to them, bright points of colour in an otherwise dull setting, and bent to pick them up, one at a time. It was as he reached for the second one, resting against the base of the bed, that he realised he was beside his pillow, beneath which lay the fork, his only weapon. The only thing that could ever have a chance of catching Axel by surprise. He straightened slowly, looking carefully over his shoulder to where the redhead waited beside the door. He dropped the flip-flops to the floor, used the mattress as a support as he slid them onto his feet, and using it as a cover, slipped his fingers under the pillow and wrapped them around the fork's handle. As he turned towards Axel, he held it against his body, and when the man turned to the door, twisting the handle to pull it open, Roxas tucked the fork away into a pocket, out of sight, just like when he had taken it from the diner.

Now wasn't the time to use it. But eventually, the opportunity would present itself, and he would be forever on the lookout for it.

For now, he would walk to the door, and accompany Axel out into the parking lot, into whatever car he could procure, safe in the knowledge that at least he had something to rely on, at whatever distant point it became useful.


End file.
